


the sun and the silver lining

by lightningbend



Series: this feels like summer [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Byeol: the true protagonist of the story and most important dog in the world, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jeon Wonwoo: soft cryptid detective absolutely NOT looking for love, Kim Mingyu: human disaster; fighter of fires saviour of lives; human embodiment of sunshine, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, jane austen i did it for you, the slowest burn in the history of slow burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-08-26 00:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 60,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningbend/pseuds/lightningbend
Summary: This is a love story about a man and a dog and his neighbour. It's a story about local cat person Jeon Wonwoo, and how his neighbour, Kim Mingyu, fell in love with his dog, and everything that came after.





	1. slow dancing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> the fic i've been yelling about on and off since july of this year. i know it isn't the fic most of y'all have been waiting for but i hope you'll love it as much as i do.
> 
> chapter title from lo-fi meme king joji

 

 

“ _What the_ fuck _is happening?_ Am I — _hallucinating?_ ”

Given that it’s one o’clock in the morning and he hasn’t slept in over thirty-seven hours, Wonwoo could be forgiven for internal monologuing out loud in his own apartment.

And if he _isn’t_ hallucinating, there’s a very naked, very attractive man standing in the middle of his living room playing with his dog. The fact that his first, immediate thought is how ludicrously muscular the strange man in his apartment is, and not concern for the safety of his puppy, probably makes Wonwoo a bad owner. It’s not his fault that the man built like an underwear model, a _ridiculously handsome_ , stupidly tall underwear model who is currently cuddling Wonwoo’s dog in a way that’s startlingly cute.

“Oh.” The hot stranger says, voice soft and raspy and much smaller than his size would suggest. “You’re Byeol’s owner. The Cute Neighbour.”

Wonwoo’s brain short-circuits — well, what’s _left_ of it after his fourth all-nighter in a row at the precinct does.

 _Wow_ , is all his last two poor, overworked brain cells can muster. Arms.

And because Wonwoo is a useless homosexual who doesn’t know the first thing about talking to attractive men even when he’s well-rested and wide awake, the only thing that manages to leave his mouth is: 

“ _Do you work out?_ ” 

What the fuck was that.

Jesus Christ, Jeon Wonwoo. You get paid to solve crimes and investigate murders, and _this_ is what you come up with when a (hot) strange (handsome) potential thief has been caught red-handed in the midst of breaking-and-entering into your own house?

“Uh.” Tall, Ripped and Handsome says. Or slurs rather. “Yeah. Sometimes. I mean — _yes_. I’s conce – concept – contr’ceptive, right? But I like looking good. Y’ think they look good? My arms?”

(Wonwoo’s just going to assume he meant ‘conceited’.)

As if this night could get any worse. Or any weirder. The very hot man very illegally standing in the middle of Wonwoo’s living room is _drunk_.

Byeol takes this opportunity to give a bark of acknowledgement, the little traitor. As if his beloved owner isn’t standing right in front of him watching him snuggling into the arms of the dangerous burglar (dangerously _attractive_ — and god, which superfluous part of his brain is the one that keeps coming up with these unhelpful observations?) that’s broken into their house. Some guard dog _he_ turned out to be.  

Hot Burglar Man breaks out into a grin, rubbing at Byeol between his ears, right where he loves being petted. How in the hell he knows that, Wonwoo isn’t sure, but the situation is spinning wildly out of his control. 

“Two questions: Who the hell are you? And what are you doing with my dog?”

“Gyu.” The man mumbles, distracted by the way Byeol is licking excitedly at his hands. “ _Min_ — gyu.” 

“— _What?_ ”

“Tha’s my name.” 

“Right. Well. _Mingyu._ I’m going to need you to put my dog down and get the fuck out of my house before I charge you for breaking-and-entering and attempted robbery.” 

Wonwoo’s face goes cold, dead-eyed in the way it does when he’s staring down wanted suspects and hardened criminals. Somehow, bringing out The Face strikes him as a little excessive, especially when the stranger seems entirely harmless save for his towering height and ripped physique. (How tall is this asshole anyway? And what exactly is the point of being _that_ tall and _that_ handsome?)

“Didn’t steal anything,” Mingyu insists, biting back a laugh as Byeol arches up to lick at his face. “‘Cept maybe this guy. But ‘s more like _he_ —” He cuts himself off with a little giggle as Byeol succeeds in licking at Mingyu’s cheek, and it’s infuriating how endearing the sound of it is. “Stole my heart.”

Oh, my god. Wonwoo needs this man out of his house, _now_. Right fucking now. Before he does something stupid, and irredeemably impulsive. Like taking his clothes off so he can ask a complete stranger to take him right here and now.

Wonwoo’s eyes keep straying relentlessly to the brief glimpse of Calvin Klein briefs he can see every time Mingyu shifts, biceps rippling like a high-budget PornHub production. 

“As nice as that sentiment is, this is _illegal_.” _You’re_ illegal, Wonwoo almost blurts out. Thankfully, his mouth takes mercy on him, sparing him the one last shred of dignity he has left. _Is this even allowed_ , meanwhile, stays stuck on a loop in his brain, the same loop that keeps stopping and restarting every time the man so much as flexes unintentionally.   

“You’re not allowed to be here.”

Mingyu seems too enamoured by the way Byeol is curling into his chest and attempting to burrow his face into his armpit — which, to be fair, is entirely understandable — to reply. Still, Wonwoo’s tired, and confused, and he just wants to go the fuck to sleep in his own bed with his dog curled up at his feet and not in the arms of some hot, muscly stranger.

“Are you even listening right now?! _Yah!_ ” Wonwoo snaps, furious at Mingyu but more furious at himself for daring to find such behaviour _endearing_. “How the hell did you even get into my house?”

At the sound of the bite in Wonwoo’s voice, Mingyu’s head jerks up. It’s eerily puppy-like, especially with his wide brown eyes and light hair swept messily across his forehead, scruffy in a way that _should_ look dishevelled, but instead only makes him look more like an editorial model caught mid-shot for an underwear campaign. 

“Um.” Mingyu tightens his arms around Byeol, as if Byeol needs protecting from _him_. “Uh. I climbed? In the window.”

“That’s impossible. Every window in my apartment is fully sealed with police-grade security locks.”

Mingyu flushes, ducking his head in embarrassment. He pets at Byeol’s ears with his fingers as he peers up at Wonwoo from beneath his lashes. And even though he’s taller by at least two inches (again, _how?_ ) the appearance makes him seem smaller, cuter. “I’m kinda… _strong_?” 

Fuck. He's getting a refund for those locks first thing tomorrow.

Mingyu looks genuinely bashful as he bites on his lips, nudging at the dog in his arms panting away and wagging his tail happily, completely oblivious to the situation at hand. 

“Byeol helped.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“ _Wh — ?_ ”

“I need you to shut up and let me think for a second without looking at me with those stupid puppy eyes.” Wonwoo narrows his eyes, a finger whipping up to point at them accusingly. “ _Both_ of you.”

Wonwoo presses his fingertips to his nose bridge, brow pinched to ward off the impending migraine he can feel coming on.

There’s something strangely familiar about Mingyu that he can’t seem to put his finger on. It’s like the gut feeling he gets when a seemingly insignificant detail of a case catches his eye, the faint gleam of a lead like a fragment of stray glitter burrowed in the dirt, one that would otherwise be meaningless on its own but suddenly makes absolute sense slotting into place amidst all the right pieces. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because he can’t _think_ right now. This man, _Mingyu_ , whoever he is, is cupping Byeol’s face in his (very large) hands and Wonwoo’s brain has dissolved into the kind of lustful, thirst at first sight nonsense he usually mocks his friends for.

“Byeol.” Mingyu says, his drunken slur sounding very earnest, _heartfelt_ in a way that’s almost choked up. “I love you. More th’n anyone else in the world. Except my mom. And Minseo. Dad, too. But you’re definitely fourth.”

Byeol just peers up into Mingyu’s eyes (which, come to think of it, look like a mirror image of Byeol’s), ears perked up attentively even though there’s no way he could possibly understand Mingyu’s drunken ramblings. Wonwoo feels like he’s intruding on something precious and intimate and unbearably soft. 

At some point when watching Mingyu nuzzle his face into Byeol’s becomes awkward enough (adorable enough) that Wonwoo has questioned the purpose of his life at least twice, Wonwoo clears his throat. 

“Sorry to _interrupt_ ,” Wonwoo says tersely, and yes, okay, _fuck_ , if he’s being honest, he’s a little jealous. Of how responsive Byeol is to Mingyu. ( _How does he even know Byeol's name?_ Have they met before?) Not of anything else. God knows it took _weeks_ for that little, furry demon to warm up to Wonwoo, and there certainly hasn’t been any face nuzzling since. “But I’ve had a _really_ long week and I’d just like to go to bed without some weird stranger breaking into my house and trying to steal my dog.” 

Mingyu’s face falls as he pulls away from Byeol, his eyes wide and contrite, brow drawn tight, stricken.

For some bizarre, inexplicable reason, a spark of déjà vu ignites in Wonwoo’s head. Why does he feel like he’s seen this man before?

“Oh.” He hangs his head a little, like a kid being scolded for being bad. Or worse, a _puppy_. “Sorry. _Sorry._ I’ll, um, I’ll go.” 

Now Wonwoo just feels like an asshole when he’s the one who's had his house broken into at one in the morning and his dog is being emotionally, if not physically, kidnapped before his eyes. 

Mingyu wavers, grip tightening around Byeol unconsciously before he lets out a small, defeated puff of breath, shoulders deflating as he looks down at Byeol. His eyes look suspiciously shiny, but Wonwoo’s willing to write that off as a symptom of intoxication, for both their sakes. And then with all near seven feet of him, the man crouches down, brushes his palms over Byeol’s face, stroking his fingertips over Byeol’s forehead one last time, and lets him go.

Byeol whines almost immediately, jumping up at Mingyu and running around him as if he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Wonwoo, honest to god, feels like the moustache-twirling villain of a classically beloved dog movie. Seriously, what the fuck is this? _Old Yeller?_

Mingyu straightens, ignoring Byeol’s attempts at getting his attention, expression ripped wide open like he’s saying goodbye to Byeol forever or something equally ridiculous. 

“Sorry. Again.” Mingyu curls in on himself, looking much smaller and less sure of himself. The act does nothing to lessen the daunting effect of his rippling pecs and abs and biceps on full display.

Wonwoo just wants this whole bizarre night fucking over with so he can pass out in the comfort of his own bed in solitary, gay peace.

“It’s — _fine_.” Well, _no_ , it’s not, but Wonwoo can hardly say that out loud when he’s already made him look like he’s on the brink of tears all because he made him let go of his dog. 

“Just… don’t do it again, I guess.” Wonwoo says half-heartedly. Mingyu just looks down forlornly at Byeol who’s making sad, snuffling noises by his feet.

And maybe he sends Mingyu off with some painkillers, spare clothes, and a bottle of water to wake up to in the morning. But only because Wonwoo isn’t a total jackass — and he couldn’t very well let him walk back to his apartment naked; there are _children_ living in the building — and making a grown man nearly cry because he kicked him out of his house and wouldn’t let him play with his dog is certainly _not_ how he planned on ending his night.

Besides, the humiliation alone of waking up and realising you spent last night wandering around some stranger’s apartment practically buck naked while petting their dog should be punishment enough.

Wonwoo mentally adds ‘fix window locks’ to his to-do list, and goes to pass out into the sweet nothingness of sleep.

  

 

\-----

 

 

At around some time near two in the morning, Wonwoo wakes up in a cold sweat. _He knows._

He knows why Mingyu looks so familiar. Because the first time they met, this 7-foot-tall walking disaster nearly killed him.

  

 

\-----

 

  

It’s a Thursday, around eleven o’clock in the morning, at Wonwoo’s favourite coffee shop, Love & Letter Café. The café is small and unassuming, charmingly decorated with a timeless aesthetic, all polished wooden accents and tastefully arranged greenery and hanging plants. If it wasn’t for the fact that the coffee shop lies tucked away in the back streets of Garosu-gil, it’d be constantly crowded with your run-of-the-mill hipsters and fame-hungry SNS bloggers. 

Wonwoo comes here for the flowers, and the good coffee, and the escapism of sitting in a picturesque café, hidden away from the world like his little secret. He’s never brought anyone here before, never told anyone it's one of his favourite places in the world to be.

When you’re faced with the absolute worst of humanity on a daily basis, you need things that remind you that there’s still beauty in the simplicity of everyday life. Wonwoo’s senior officer, Seungcheol, had told him that in his first week as a junior inspector at the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency. It’s the small things, he’d said, like having a favourite café or a book shop to escape to. Somewhere to sit and unwind and forget the world outside if only for a moment so that you don’t lose sight of what you’re really fighting for.

For Wonwoo, Love & Letter is a kind of sanctuary. The staff here know him and his order by name but they don't strike up conversation past the standard small talk of good-natured customer service, and that suits Wonwoo just fine. In their minds, he’s just another office worker stopping by to grab his morning coffee and occasionally some breakfast. 

This particularly morning is one where he desperately needs the reprieve of some good coffee and peace of mind to clear his head. Seungcheol, the same superior officer he’s worked under for the last five years and essentially been personally mentored by, threatened to dismiss him from his latest case.

Wonwoo’s sense of obligation and procedure is exceeded only by his moral imperative of justice. Of seeing justice served and sentenced. If that means applying a little more pressure on an informant or suspect than typically warranted then so be it. And three years ago, Seungcheol would have been right beside him in that interrogation room, playing off his good cop bad cop _worse cop_ routine. But now that he’s made Senior Inspector and been set on the political fast track to Superintendent, Seungcheol has no time for things like _loose interpretations_ of agency policy and bending protocol because ‘fuck this guy, Seungcheol, he’s gotten off the last three times only because the idiots down in Yongsan don’t know how to keep their fingerprints off evidence’.

It’d frustrate Wonwoo more if he didn’t think Seungcheol deserved the position. More than anyone in the agency he’s ever met, Seungcheol is the kind of man Seoul _needs_ to lead the KNP into a new era. That, and he’s the best Unknown Battlegrounds sniper Wonwoo’s ever seen other than himself. Wonwoo would follow the man into simulated warfare with only mild complaining.

Two hours ago however, Seungcheol had dismissed him from his office, told him to ‘clear his head’ and get some air, the suggestion worded like an explicit order. Wonwoo hadn’t been able to get another word in edgewise, and he’d left the precinct in a black mood, eyes heavy like storm clouds as he swept out of the bull pen. Love & Letter is an hour round trip from Mapo-gu Police Station, but fuck it, Seungcheol can afford to wait him out.

The barista he knows by name and face, Hansol, grins as Wonwoo steps up to the counter to order. “Morning, Wonwoo-hyung.”

“Morning, Hansol.” Wonwoo nods at him, a small smile lifting instinctively at the corners of his lips. Despite never explicitly giving the kid permission to call him _hyung_ , Wonwoo finds it hard pressed to argue against the earnestness he’s greeted with whenever Hansol says hello.

“Everything alright with you, hyung?” Hansol tilts his head, straightforward in spite of the hesitance creeping into his open expression. “You seem kind of… different today.”

“I’ve been better.” Wonwoo replies. “Just… a rough start to the day.”

“Oh, man, tell me about it. Sometimes it just takes one tiny thing to throw you off your vibe.” Hansol shakes his head with a small, sympathetic sigh, and scrawls his order on the lid of a cup in white marker. “It really be like that sometimes.”

Blatant abuse of grammar aside, Wonwoo doesn’t understand the reference. He nods nonetheless.

“Don’t let it ruin your day, okay, hyung? Week’s almost over, after all. There’s nothing that getting to sleep in on the weekend can’t fix.”

Wonwoo doesn’t mention that a 40-hour work week is a myth in his line of business. Or the fact that he frequently pulls all-nighters because his body doesn’t know how to function anymore on more than five hours of sleep.

“Thanks, I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Good. ‘Cause we can’t have one of our best regulars looking all sad and stressed out sitting in the café, it’s bad for business.”

Wonwoo lets out a low huff of laughter and reaches to tap his card against the card reader.

“Oh! This one’s on us.” Hansol beams, waving him off. “Don’t argue, just accept the free drink, bro. You look like you could use one.” 

Wonwoo arches a brow at Hansol, holding his determined gaze for a full eight seconds before conceding defeat. He roots around his pockets for some spare change and slips 20,000 won into the tip jar instead.

“Thanks, Hansol.”

“Any time.” Hansol’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, leaving Wonwoo with a cheery _Same time tomorrow, hyung_ , before going to serve the next customer.

There’s a new barista Wonwoo doesn’t recognise behind the bar. Wonwoo only notices him because he’s so tall, towering above the counter separating the employees from the customers. But now that he _has_ noticed him, he can’t help noticing everything — the artfully dishevelled hair styled in a curve across his forehead, his skin tanned light gold, the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the expensive watch on his wrist. As a detective, Wonwoo's instinctive and finely honed perceptiveness is both his greatest gift and his greatest curse. Right now, he’s wishing he wasn’t half so observant, if only to keep his mind from straying to the muscles in the barista’s forearms flexing every time he moves. 

“One hot Americano.”

Wonwoo steps forward to take his drink, and that’s when it happens.

The cute barista looks up — and Wonwoo has never been particularly conscious of his physical appearance in the way that some people are; he knows for a fact he’s attractive, that he’s capable of turning heads and earning a cursory double take although it’s never been something he actively seeks out — but for some reason the pure astonishment on the man’s face sends a flicker of strange satisfaction through him.

Caught off-guard in his shock, the barista fumbles the drink in his hands and it tips, burning hot liquid spraying from it as the lid hits the surface of the table. The majority of it ends up on Wonwoo’s shirt and slacks, a faint searing heat and wetness spreading darkly across his white shirt and grey pants like blood.

“Oh my god. _Ohmygod._ I am so, _so_ , sorry — ” All the colour has drained from the barista’s handsome, tanned face. He darts around the corner of the bar and grabs a fistful of napkins which he then proceeds to start dabbing at Wonwoo with, his movements growing increasingly more anxious and more distraught alongside the litany of apologies and curses tumbling out of his mouth.

“I’m so, so sorry, sir. I’m such — I’m such an _idiot_ , I can’t believe this. _Shit_ , and on my first day at work, too. I can’t — _tell you_ _how sorry I am_.” 

Wonwoo’s just had a burning hot Americano spilled all over him, and there’s a man dabbing urgently at his crotch in full view of an entire café of strangers, and all he can think is how ridiculously handsome said man is up close. How broad his shoulders look from where’s he ducked down, trying to get at the dark patch of coffee soaking into the bottom of Wonwoo’s shirt. How soft his hair looks, and if it’d be as soft if Wonwoo were to reach out and touched it.

( _Day 176 without sex: Went into a café and had a hot stranger spill coffee all over me just to remember what human touch felt like as they attempted to clean it off me._ ) 

Wonwoo snaps out of his momentary lapse of brain activity. His hand shoots out to grab at the man’s wrist where he’s brushing dangerously close to Wonwoo’s inner thigh, and the part of his brain he’s usually so grateful for in the twilight hours of working a particularly gruelling case unhelpfully observes the difference in size between their wrists, and hands, and _fingers_.

The man’s head shoots up and now he’s gazing at him, open-mouthed, face flushed and tight with fear and panicked nervousness.

“ _Stop_ , it’s alright _._ ” Wonwoo’s voice is calm, composed, _controlled_ — everything that this situation _isn’t_. 

“Mingyu-hyung! _Holy shit_ , what did you do?!” Hansol’s rounded the corner now and is standing, staring at them with wide eyes and a look of utter horror on his face. 

“ _I’m so, so sorry_. Let me — _sir_ , let me pay for your dry cleaning or something, I can —” 

Wonwoo shoots the barista a look that silences him immediately and he ducks his head, cowed by whatever he sees on Wonwoo’s face. 

“That won’t be necessary, it’s fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clean myself up in the bathroom.”

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves Hansol — and Mingyu — gaping at his back.

It’s been a disaster of day and it isn’t even noon yet. Wonwoo sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror of the men’s room, lifting a hand to scrub tiredly at his face before he sets about rinsing as much of the coffee as he can out of his shirt while still wearing it. His pants are beyond redemption but if he buttons his jacket up to the top he can hide the stains on his shirt.

When he comes out of the restroom and is preparing to leave, Mingyu scrambles out from behind the counter, a paper takeaway bag with Love & Letter’s logo stamped on the front dangling from his hand. 

“Jeon Wonwoo-ssi.” He says solemnly, bowing from his waist.

Wonwoo has to fight the urge not to snap at him to stand up straight, but he thinks the both of them have suffered enough public humiliation for the day. 

Mingyu thrusts the bag at him with both hands, head still bowed. “This is, um, an apology. I’m very sorry about what happened with the coffee. I’m not really — this isn’t really my first day but I owed Joshua a favour. Please take this as a sign of how sorry I am, I take full responsibility so please… don’t blame anyone at Love & Letter.”

Wonwoo takes the bag, because what the hell else can he do? 

“It’s fine, accidents happen. And even if I _was_ petty enough to blame you for something that could happen to anyone, if I don’t get my daily dose of caffeine from here my body would literally cease to function.” 

Mingyu’s head jerks up, a surprised giggle tumbling like spilt sugar from his lips and he’s peering at Wonwoo with these big, wide eyes, so earnest and vulnerable Wonwoo can’t help but note how cute he is with this particular look on his face.

“I’m sorry again, Wonwoo-ssi, really. I hope — well, hopefully your day can’t get any worse than this.”

It’s so unexpected that it draws out a wry chuckle from Wonwoo. _Let’s not tempt fate_ , he wants to say _._ Instead, he leaves with a little nod in Mingyu’s direction and a wave at Hansol who’s been trying to look like he isn’t eavesdropping in the background. 

True to Mingyu’s wish however, the universe seems to take pity on him. Seungcheol is an unsettlingly good mood when he gets back to the precinct, stopping only to arch an eyebrow at the state of Wonwoo’s clothes before tossing his case file over to him. After a quick outfit change into his SMPA-issued tracksuit, Wonwoo sits down to open up his shiny new case file and the takeaway bag from Love & Letter. 

There's a slice of cake inside with a replacement Americano. It’s a lemon and raspberry cheesecake, the sweetness and citrus perfectly balanced between the softest velvet and spun sugar.

 _Even if_ Wonwoo were the kind of asshole who’d stop going to a café simply because one of their employees had made a simple, relatively harmless mistake, he’d have to go back just for another slice of this heaven-sent cake.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“— _Wait..._ Hot Sexy Naked Stranger who broke into your apartment last night is the same Cute Disaster Barista who spilt coffee all over you that time? Why don’t handsome stupid men ever do embarrassing shit when _I’m_ around?” 

“Soonyoung, how the fuck is _that_ the takeaway from this?”

“This is a conspiracy, I’m telling you.” Soonyoung fires back. “There’s got to be something deeper going on here.”

“ _Ooh_ , I love conspiracies.” Jun arches his brows, intrigued.

“Let the man speak, Wonwoo.” Jihoon says, tone thick with irony, but also amusement at Wonwoo’s expense. “I, for one, want to hear where this goes.”

Wonwoo stares at Jun and Jihoon in open betrayal. Soonyoung, he expected this from, but Soonyoung has always been a lost cause. It seems between the four of them Wonwoo is the only one with any brain cells left to speak of.

Usually, Wonwoo loves these lunches, unofficially known as Hoshi Hour Happy Hour, but only after the seventh round of drinks. Happy Hour is a fortnightly event at A1, one of the fancy, upscale restaurants in the up-and-coming neighbourhood of Seongdong-gu, where Wonwoo and his three old university friends make time for each other to catch up, gossip, drink ludicrously expensive cocktails and act out Soonyoung’s dreams of living vicariously through the main characters from that old American show he’s been obsessed with since middle school, _Sex in the City_ , or something. HHHH is meant to be a time to lovingly tease his friends through the ups and downs of their love lives and catastrophic adventures in the dating world. Wonwoo’s never been the main event, not even on the occasional blind dates he’s been forced into going on.

“Seriously, though!” Soonyoung continues, emboldened by the support of two out of three of them. “What are the chances?! Two encounters with hot, eligible strangers in the span of only five months? I _knew_ it was too good to be true.” 

“We don’t actually know if he’s single.” Jun points out, sipping delicately at his cocktail. “ _Do_ we know if he’s single?”

“I don’t know anything about this man other than the fact that he tried to kill me once, and the second time we met he was committing a crime.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Soonyoung scoffs.

“ _Committing crimes_ are a bad thing.”

“All great romances need that extra _spark_ make them last. Look at Jack and Rose. Kim Shin and Ji Eun Tak. _Romeo and_ Juliet. If that’s doing crime and trying to murder, _well_.” Soonyoung shrugs, leaving them to draw their own conclusions, as if anything he’s just said makes an ounce of sense.

“First of all: two of those three couples _died_ , Soonyoung.”  Wonwoo retorts. “And we all know Kim Shin and Ji Eun Tak were just the filler for the _real_ love story of _Goblin_ : Reaper and Sunny.”

“It’s not a crime if no one saw it.” Jihoon says, pursing his lips in an attempt to steer the conversation back on course. “Besides, _you_ were there and you let him off with a slap on the wrist and some painkillers for his hangover. Doesn’t that let him off the hook? Why’s he the exception?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo.” Jun’s smiling at him with this catlike gleam in his eyes and Wonwoo very much wants this conversation to end before they can get any further with this absurd line of questioning. “Care to explain to the court?”

“I was exhausted.” Wonwoo replies, voice carefully neutral, impassive. He might be the detective here but make no mistake, one single, trivial slip and his friends will turn on him like the Fish Are Friends Not Food Club in _Finding Nemo_. “I just wanted him to get the hell out of my house.” 

“Sure.” Soonyoung takes a sip from his drink, expression deceptively nonchalant. “It had nothing at all to do with how, and I quote, “tall” and “ridiculously attractive” he is. We have your statement on record, Mr. Jeon. _Check, and mate._ ”

“What is this — an interrogation?”

“It wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t so tight-lipped about every little thing to do with your already non-existent love life! We’re starving here, I have a _family_ to feed.”

“Soonyoung, tone it down.” Thank god and anime for Jihoon, ever the trusty counterbalance to Soonyoung’s chaos.

Soonyoung sighs, shoulders actively deflating as he flicks Jihoon a petulant look from across the table. “But what’s the point of Friday Cocktail Hour if Wonwoo’s going to suck all the mockery and scandalous fun out of it?”

“I didn’t say you had to stop, but I just realised something.” Jihoon sets his elbows on the table and props his chin on the bridge of his fingers. There’s a crooked tilt to his lips that Wonwoo’s learned never to trust.

Wonwoo retracts his former statement. Jihoon is clearly an agent of Satan himself.

“Don’t get all mysterious on us now, Jihoonie.” Jun matches Jihoon’s smile with a smirk of his own.

“Do you remember the night of that after party a couple months ago, when we ditched that boring ass gathering with half the rich people in the city? Rhetorically speaking, of course, you dumbasses were all _beyond_ smashed.” 

“Jihoon, wasn’t that _your_ boring ass rich people gathering?”

“Semantics.” Jihoon waves a dismissive hand. “I didn’t even want to have the party. Chanyeol insisted we needed one for the ‘networking opportunities’ and ‘ass kissing’ and I trust his judgement. Anyway, as I was saying, afterwards when the _actual_ party started in Itaewon, we went to that club.”

“Oh my god. _Oh my god._ ” Soonyoung bolts upright in his seat, lighting up like a firework, the excitement on his face almost palpable. “ _No way_ , Jihoon — ” 

“You were all so drunk you could barely stand, I’m surprised Soonyoung even remembers any of this.” 

Wonwoo’s struggling to recall details of the night; everything’s muddied and blurred, swallowed up in a black hole carved out by too many glasses of champagne, and later, vodka shots at the bar.

They’re way past the age when they drink from dusk till dawn without suffering any lasting consequences for it. These days, drinking to excess means paying the price in the form of lapses in memory and killer hangovers the morning after. He might not remember anything from the night of, but the day after sure as hell seared a black mark on his brain.

“I remember…” Soonyoung trails off, his voice dropping to an awed whisper. “My brain still hurts just thinking about that night but _oh my god_ , I thought I hallucinated the entire thing.”

“It happened. Every second of it.” Wonwoo doesn’t know what’s more terrifying at this point: the Joker-esque grin slowly breaking out across Jihoon’s face, or the truth of what happened that night. “I watched it all go down: the tall fucker punching Wonwoo in the face, _the blood_ , Wonwoo going down like a leaf in the wind. It was fucking cinematic.”

“Wait, you’re saying he _didn’t_ trip and hit his face against a table like we all thought he did?” Jun says gleefully.

“ _Nope._ The dumbass punched him. I’m guessing it was accidental — he seemed pretty fucking drunk himself — but that’s what you get for being that freakishly tall for no good reason.” 

Wonwoo... — Wonwoo needs a moment to process because what the _fuck_? _What in the_ fuck is happening right now.

“Are you trying to say the same reason I had to wear that stupid Band-Aid on my face for two whole weeks is the same guy that spilt hot coffee on me _and_ broke into my apartment last week?!”

“Well, you mentioned he was only working at the café as a favour to Joshua, and Jeonghan invited Joshua and a bunch of their mutual friends to the party that night. It’d make sense that it’s been the _same stupid hot clumsy idiot_ all along.” Jihoon trains his eyes solely on Wonwoo, a blatant challenge in the lift of his chin. “But you tell me, detective. What does the evidence say?”

“The evidence says it’s a damn good thing I’ve spent my entire career preparing for the unlikely chance I ever need to get away with murder.”

“ _Ooh, murder.”_  Soonyoung claps excitedly.“That’s even better than kinky details about Jun’s latest sexcapade.” 

“This is the thanks I get for putting food on your table?” Jun huffs, indignant as he folds his arms smoothly across his chest.

“Sorry, Jun.” Soonyoung shrugs and spreads his hands wide as if to say _what can you do?_ “Murder _always_ trumps sex.”

Wonwoo would very much like to die right now. But first: “After I kill him, I’m going to kill _you_ , Soonyoung. It’ll be a double homicide; they’ll never find the bodies.” 

“This is so sad, Alexa play _Despacito_.”

“Soonyoung.” Jihoon wrinkles his nose, bewildered. “For the last time, who the _fuck_ is Alexa and why is she playing _Despacito_?”

Soonyoung plasters a saccharine smile across his face, and bats his lashes adoringly in Jihoon’s direction. “Nobody tell him. He’s so cute when he’s clueless and outdated.”

“Right, guess I’m going down as an accomplice to that murder. Count me in, Wonwoo.” Jihoon lifts his glass at Wonwoo in a mock toast. 

“You _love_ me, Jihoonie.” Soonyoung pouts.

“Ah, yes. They’ll rule it as a crime of passion. Voluntary manslaughter, right, Wonwoo? Wonwoo. Wait — _Wonwoo_ , _where the hell are you going_?”

“You’re not _actually_ going to kill him, right? Oh my god, guys, I think he’s really going to kill the handsome stupid man.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Above all else, Jeon Wonwoo believes in fairness. In justice. He believes in the natural balance of things, figurative and literal — _all actions must have an equal and opposite reaction_.

Without law and order, the world would be chaos. Entropy. People cannot commit crimes, break laws, and do bad things without suffering the consequences.

It’s blind impulse that drives Wonwoo to abandon Jun, Jihoon and Soonyoung at A1, a surge of headlong compulsion and a need to act, _to do something_ , propelling him out of the restaurant and back to his apartment. He doesn’t have a plan, Wonwoo realises, when he finally fumbles open the upgraded locks of his apartment. It’s an uncomfortable feeling being without a plan, or even a vaguely-formed idea of what he’s doing.

His Kakao notifications have been blowing up for the past thirty minutes, most likely by his friends demanding to know where he went. He presses his back against his door, tugging his phone out of his pocket with an exasperated huff.

 

 

 **soonyoung > > >  69 gang gang  
**wonwoo ??????? ARE YOU GOING TO COMMIT A MURDER

 

 **jihoon  
**don’t be ridiculous soonyoung he’s clearly going to get. That. Dick

 

 **jun**  
wonwoo you slut answer our messages!!!!  
how big IS he? is he as big as he looks? 

 

 **soonyoung**  
this is so unfair. SO unfair  
when is a stupid tall hot man going to fall head over heels for me huH ????

 

 **jun**  
oh is there a height requirement?  
you must be This Tall to ride the hoshi express?

 

 **jihoon**  
…  
wen junhui shut the fuck up right now i know where you live and i will burn everything you love

 

 **jun  
**unlike u i carry the things i love with me in my Heart, jihoonie

 

 **soonyoung**  
fuck it im updating my grindr profile  
putting my address on there in case any sexy men wanna break into my house too

 

 **jihoon**  
i have three words for you junhui: minghao’s grey sweater  
soonyoung what the fuck do you wanna die????

 

 **jun  
**YOU WOULDN’T DARE YOU KNOW I CAN’T SLEEP WITHOUT THAT THING

 

 **jihoon  
**bitch, try me .

 

 **soonyoung**  
have fuk at your dick appointment wonwoo!!!!!  
*fun  
fuck works too

 

 **jun  
**boi get that fukk

 

 

Wonwoo closes first the group chat, then the entire app, pressing two fingers against the furrow of his brow where he can feel a headache starting to come on.

Byeol chooses this moment to bound into the room, and _yes_ , it’s very terrible and heartbreaking that Wonwoo’s own dog has greater priorities than greeting him the moment he steps in through the door. Priorities like dunking all his shoes in the toilet, presumably. 

Byeol sets down a soaking wet sneaker on the ground. One of Wonwoo’s favourite pair of Nikes. _Get a dog_ , they said. _It’ll be amazing, you won’t regret it_ , they said.

Actually, what they said went more along the lines of _Date a girl who leaves her entire life behind in Korea for her dream job in New York. Agree to take in your ex-girlfriend’s dog, the same girl who supposedly broke your heart and is now leaving her one year old puppy with you to chase a dream that you were never part of_.

It’s been a hellish few months made worse by Byeol’s insistence on being the puppy from biblical hell, his very own one-headed Cerberus. They’d gotten off the wrong foot, for starters — Wonwoo had prolonged meeting him for as long as possible with some thoughtless, half-assed lie about being ‘scared’ of dogs. Before they finally met, Byeol had chewed up a total of three pairs of Wonwoo’s shoes and peed in a fourth despite being fully toilet trained.

Wonwoo has a theory that Byeol can sense his innate cat person energy. Dogs are intuitive like that.

Wonwoo walks over to where Byeol has set the sneaker down, dripping all over his floorboards, and crouches into a squat, running his hand across Byeol’s forehead and rubbing softly between his ears.

It’s hard to stay mad at a dog that’s so painfully cute. Even if said dog has a penchant for ruining all of Wonwoo’s favourite shoes. 

The sight of Byeol peering up at him, tongue sticking out slightly as he wags his tail in greeting at Wonwoo, sends a flicker of bizarre recognition through his mind. The Hot Handsome _Naked_ Neighbour and the way he’d looked at Wonwoo, big, earnest eyes, all sincerity and guilelessness, like a puppy who doesn’t know better than to trust every person he meets. 

 _Right._ The neighbour. That’s why he’s here right now. He needs to confront the neighbour. To get his clothes back. Yes. _Yep_ , that’s what he’s doing. 

Wonwoo straightens back up and starts to head towards the doorway, as he’s about to close the door behind him though, Byeol charges through the gap between his feet and the doorframe. Wonwoo’s brows arch instinctively, disbelief making his lips part wordlessly. Byeol sits back down on the other side of the door, eyeing Wonwoo as if to say _oh, yes, we’re doing this_.

What follows is a solid thirty-seven second staring contest: man vs. dog. Sheer willpower vs. infinite stubbornness. Immovable object meets force that is growing increasingly exasperated with his tiny demon of a dog.  

“ _Fine_.” Wonwoo exhales, plain defeat shadowed in his eyes. Byeol wags his tail and peers up at him, excited as he always is about nothing at all. 

“You can come. But do _not_ blow this for me, do you understand?”

Byeol pants, tail wagging harder. 

Wonwoo’s going to take that as a _yes_ , otherwise he’s officially losing his mind trying to ask his puppy to stay cool while he goes to confront his neighbour.

As it turns out, it’s not strictly legal that Wonwoo knows exactly which apartment Kim Mingyu lives in. But given that he’s letting him off by _not_ filing a report for a domestic breaking-and-entering, a routine background check and search on the nation-wide police database is simply an act of good will. 

Kim Mingyu, 24 years of age, born in Anyang, Gyeonggi-do. Currently lives in the same apartment building as Wonwoo at 5B. No police record, not even a parking ticket to his name.

As Wonwoo walks down the hallway to take the stairs to level 5, Byeol trailing behind him, he considers the fact that he has no idea what he’s about to say or do when he confronts this man.

Does he bring up the naked breaking-and-entering and public indecency again? Does he accuse him of being drunk and disorderly that one time, a public intoxication that resulted in physical damage to _Wonwoo’s face_ , however incidental? Does he thank him for the free cake and coffee and beg to be given a recipe for it that he’ll never use?

Wonwoo’s too busy weighing up between options A and B to notice Byeol racing ahead of him. By the time he has, the door to 5B has opened to reveal Kim Mingyu sinking excitedly to his knees to greet Byeol, surprise lighting up his face as he bursts into an enormous grin. Wonwoo doesn’t know what it is about Byeol that seems to reduce this hulking six-foot man into an adorable, overenthusiastic little kid every time he sees him but it’s jarring to see him crouched down and looking so harmless and unassuming as he coos and fusses over Byeol. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing a big, fluffy, baby blue sweater that looks like it’s been spun from cotton candy.

“Uh. Hi.” Wonwoo says, for lack of anything better to do.

Mingyu’s head shoots up, and Wonwoo sincerely doesn’t know what to do with the mixture of astonishment and open delight he sees there.

“Oh, _hey!_ I figured he wouldn’t have wandered down here on his own but it’s not exactly the first time he’s done it.” 

“... _Excuse me?_ ”

Mingyu looks momentarily guilty as his eyes dart down to Byeol, as if he’s betrayed his confidence somehow by accidentally letting on too much. “Yeah… Um. Byeol has totally _never_ gone anywhere in this building by himself before, he’s a good dog. _The best._ You’re the absolute _best boy_ , aren’t you?”

The last sentence is directed at Byeol, Wonwoo entirely forgotten as Mingyu ducks down to cup Byeol’s face in his large hands and make soft, cooing noises at him. 

“— Right. Okay.” 

And now on top of Kim Mingyu’s huge man hands cupping Byeol’s face and gazing at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, Wonwoo has to deal with the fact that this little hell demon has been wandering around his apartment building unsupervised and this has somehow slipped his attention altogether. 

“Anyway!” Mingyu says, straightening to his feet and scooping Byeol into his arms so naturally it looks like he’s picking up his own dog. “Was there something you needed? Not that it isn’t nice to see y — Byeol. _And you._ Of course. Both of you.” 

“I —” Wonwoo cuts himself off, brow furrowing minutely as he eyes Byeol who hasn’t attempted to squirm out of Mingyu’s grip even _once_. What the hell does Kim Mingyu have that _he_ doesn’t? Apart from a seemingly endless supply of affection and fondness?

“Ah,” Mingyu says, making a noise in the back of his throat. “Sorry, before I forget because I keep meaning to find time to do it and then never getting around to it — uh, do you mind waiting here for a second? Or you can come in. Actually, yeah, come on in.

“Please excuse the mess by the way, it’s been a crazy week and I haven’t had time to clean up.”

Mingyu turns, striding into his apartment, his long legs and fluffy sweater disappearing across the threshold and leaving Wonwoo no choice but to follow.

Mingyu’s apartment is clean and tastefully decorated by someone with an evident eye for interior design and art. Wonwoo has no idea what he means by “the mess” because the only thing that seems to even remotely out of place is an uneven stack of thick books on his coffee table. Apart from the books, everything about his apartment is impeccably tidy, the floorboards are so polished they might as well be gleaming and even the corners of his couch cushions seem to be aligned at the exact angle that shows off the masterful coordination of their off-white shade against the hardwood floors and tastefully avant-garde coffee table.

Mingyu has disappeared down the hallway, Byeol still in tow. As Wonwoo sweeps his eyes around Mingyu’s apartment, he decides that this place doesn’t look like the apartment of a drunken, embarrassing disaster of a man he’d been so determined to write Kim Mingyu off as. 

This place looks like it belongs in an interior decorating magazine, on the cover or the centrefold. Somewhere meant to be seen and appreciated. Nothing like Wonwoo’s sad, sparse apartment and ‘minimalist’ aesthetic. It looks well-lived in, despite how flawlessly tidy it is. It looks like someone’s _home_.

“Here we go, hyung.” Mingyu saunters back into the main living area, a neatly folded pile of clothes balanced on an open palm, and Byeol propped on his hip like a toddler. Wonwoo’s brow twitches at the casual honorific.

“Sorry,” Mingyu says upon catching the slip of his tongue, bashful smile darting across his face. “Most of my friends are older than me, force of habit. Is it alright if I call you hyung?”

 _No_ , Wonwoo wants to say. _We aren’t_ friends. We’ve met each other three times:

  1. You broke into my house naked and completely wasted;
  2. You punched me in the face at a party also completely wasted; and as if that wasn’t enough,
  3. You spilled hot coffee all over me at my favourite café. 



“I guess so.” Wonwoo says, in the verbal equivalent of a shrug. 

Mingyu beams, seemingly oblivious to the figurative distance Wonwoo has put between them as veritable strangers. “Awesome. Well, here you go, hyung. I can’t apologise enough for the other night by the way.”

Finally, for the first time since he greeted Wonwoo in his doorway after ignoring him in favour of showering his dog in attention, Mingyu has the decency to look sufficiently embarrassed. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinge a soft pink, the blush heavy enough that it shows through the golden cast of his skin. Mingyu lets Byeol down softly so he can give the clothes to Wonwoo with both hands.

“I’m really… I feel terrible.” Mingyu says, the gleam in his wide, brightly lit eyes dimming slightly as he hangs his head. “It’s been a while since I got that drunk and I… must have underestimated how much I had that night and…. I don’t know, I —”

“Did you _iron_ my clothes?” Wonwoo cuts him off, fingering the fabric of his freshly laundered shirt and pants in disbelief.

“What?” Mingyu wrinkles his nose, evidently thrown off by the sudden change in topic. “Yeah. I had them dry cleaned just in case. Didn’t want the smell of drunk idiot to stick to them.”

“That’s very… considerate, but unnecessary, of you.”

Mingyu shakes his head firmly, eyes taking on a stubborn gleam. “It was the least I could do. You could’ve just kicked me out on my ass but you lent me a pair of your clothes and gave me painkillers and a glass of water, too. You didn’t have to do that.” 

 _I know,_ dear god _, don’t remind me._ Wonwoo really shouldn’t have done that.

“Well.” Wonwoo murmurs, tugging the clothes back in a somewhat clumsier fashion than the perfectly pressed and folded form they’d been given to him. “Thank you for returning them. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see them again.”

Mingyu widens his eyes. “No, hyung, thank _you_. You’re, like, _really_ nice, you know that? I only moved in here four months ago and you’re the first person I’ve met who’s been nothing been but kind. I think the ahjumma in 4F hates me.” 

“She hates everyone. It’s kind of her thing. We have a running joke about it amongst the residents that she’s lived here since this place was built and the landlord’s her ex-husband who lost the apartment in the divorce.”

“Wow.” Mingyu breathes. “Okay, I feel better knowing I’m not the only one she seems to have it out for.”

“She even hates Byeol. She told me once to keep him quiet or else she’d file a formal complaint to the landlord.”

“Jesus.” Mingyu frowns, looking genuinely upset by the idea of anyone disliking Byeol. “That’s so sad. Who could hate Byeol? Just _look_ at that tiny, adorable, amazing face.”

They both look down at Byeol who’s sat his little ass down between them in an display of unusual obedience, and is peering quietly up at them both. He gives a soft bark and goes to twine himself between Mingyu’s legs.

Mingyu laughs, or more accurately _giggles_. “Byeol’s amazing. You’re so lucky to have such a great dog. I mean, all dogs are objectively great, don’t get me wrong, but Byeol? He’s something special.”

“He’s _something_ alright.” Wonwoo replies, thinking of the dozens of ruined shoes, the carpet stains he’ll never get rid of, the hours of sleep he’s lost because of this small hell-demon.

“He’s _beautiful_.” Mingyu says, and really seems to mean it.

Wonwoo bites his tongue, deciding not to destroy Mingyu’s picturesque idea of Byeol, however misled it is. 

“I always wanted a dog growing up but my little sister’s allergic so we never got to have one. No matter how much I begged. One summer I even saved up all my money from working as a part-timer and threatened to move out unless my parents at least _considered_ rescuing a dog.”

“I’m guessing that didn’t end well.”

“I camped out in our backyard in protest for three days before my stomach gave out on me from hunger. All I’d thought to pack was ramyeon and choco pies, and I completely forgot that you need _hot water_ to cook ramyeon.” 

Wonwoo lets out a low, soft huff of a laugh, and Mingyu breaks out into an unwitting smile.

“Anyway. Byeol’s awesome. If you ever need someone to dog-sit or just look after him for a few hours, I’m your man. Here, I’ll get you my number.”

Mingyu goes to grab a pen and rips off a scrap of paper from one of the messily stacked notebooks on the coffee table, scrawling his number down before handing it to Wonwoo.

“And! Before you go!”

Mingyu is a blur of movement and energy, jumping from one thing to another and before Wonwoo can even take the slip of paper, he's darting over to the kitchen and taking a plastic Tupperware box out of his fridge. When he walks back over to Wonwoo, he presses the box, and handwritten number, into his hands.

“It’s nothing much but I like to think I’m a pretty decent cook.” Mingyu’s eyes crinkle, his aegyo sal deepening and making him seem even sunnier, kinder, as he smiles. “It’s spicy seafood noodles, one of my mum’s favourite — and in my opinion, one of her _best_ — home recipes. Think of it as me making it up to you for the other night.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“Don’t thank me. Just eat it well!” Mingyu ducks down to ruffle Byeol’s fur, the longing and affection on his face all the plainer after what he’s told Wonwoo.

No wonder he always looks at Byeol like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen. To someone who’s always wanted to have a dog but never has, all dogs must seem like that.

“Bye, Byeol. Promise to come see me some time, huh?” Mingyu says, scratching Byeol under his chin. Byeol twists his head until he has Mingyu’s palm over his face and proceeds to nuzzle into his fingers. Mingyu softens immediately, a look of quiet awe washing over his face. “Yeah. Me too, buddy. It was really good seeing you, too.”

Wonwoo clears his throat under his breath, feeling like he’s interrupting something decent human beings shouldn’t have the heart to.

“I’ll, uh, see you around then.”

“See you around, hyung.” Mingyu walks them to the door, waving cutely at Byeol from his doorway until they’re out of sight. 

Wonwoo has no idea what the fuck just transpired in the last ten minutes or so. He went into 5B having no idea what was happening, and left it with a pile of dry-cleaned clothes, a Tupperware box of food, Kim Mingyu’s number, and _still no idea_ what the fuck is happening here. 

He’s walking into his own apartment, Byeol bounding ahead of him still in a good mood after seeing his favourite person in the world, when he realises he didn’t have the heart to tell Kim Mingyu that he doesn’t eat seafood.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“‘ _Kim Mingyu is a danger to society. Society being_ me.’”

“If you’re all going to do is _mock me_ , I’m going to leave. I’ve got too much work to do as it is, I don’t have to listen to this.”

“But you’ll miss out on my dramatic reading of you live-texting your big gay meltdown over Kim Mingyu!”

“It was _not_ a meltdown.” 

“I love how you didn’t deny that it was ‘big’ or ‘gay’. But what else do you call _eating seafood_ when you hate seafood just because the object of your affections made it for you?”

Wonwoo chokes succinctly on his sip of water. He can’t afford to get day drunk despite the collective peer pressuring of his friends when his caseload has spontaneously decided to multiply overnight.

“He didn’t make it just _for me_. It was leftovers.”

“ _Still._ It was handmade. _With love._ ” Soonyoung argues. “I’ve never dated a man who cooked me homemade food, let alone knew how to _cook_.” 

“That’s because all the guys you date are assholes, Soonyoung,” Jihoon says offhandedly, taking a sip of his drink.

“We’re not here to talk about me.” Soonyoung waves a dismissive hand through the air. “The topic of discussion for today is _Wonwoo_ and His Kim Mingyu Problem.”

“ _His Kim Mingyu_.” Jun teases in a sing-song voice. Wonwoo glares at him from across the table. 

“He’s not my _anything_.” Wonwoo protests. “If he _is_ anything to me at all, he’s my pain in the ass.”

“More like you _wish_ he was a pain in your ass.” Soonyoung says, winking suggestively. Jihoon muffles his laugh behind his napkin and the gesture of wiping his mouth but he’s Usual Suspect No. 1 when it comes to laughing at Soonyoung’s more brainless jokes. 

“I hate this,” Wonwoo declares. “Let’s talk about you and Kim What’s-his-name instead.”

“Kim Kibum?” Jun pipes up, sighing as he sinks his chin into his palm. “You mean _every gay man in Seoul’s dream_.”

By nature and by necessity, Wonwoo’s typically thinking two or three steps ahead of the conversation at all times. He’s fast, but the collective three brain cells of Jun, Soonyoung and Jihoon are faster. 

Fortunately, the topic of Kim Kibum should be enough to derail their attention from the _Kim_ Wonwoo has no desire of talking about. Kim Kibum is Soonyoung’s very own personal icon, his inspiration for becoming a professional dancer and likely his very first crush and the source of his gay awakening. Kibum attended Soonyoung’s latest performance at the Myeongdong NANTA Theatre, and had caught him backstage to tell him in person how impressed he was by Soonyoung’s solo. Soonyoung, being the opportunistic, most successful fan there ever was, got his number and they’ve been texting on and off for the past month or so now. 

Wonwoo’s gaze flicks to Jihoon on his left, taking note of the carefully neutral expression on Jihoon’s face, and the slight tensing of the hand that’s resting on the table. _Sorry Jihoon_ , he thinks. Right now, his own peace of mind and dignity comes before Jihoon and Soonyoung’s ongoing cat-and-mouse game.

Soonyoung blushes none too subtly at the mention of Kibum, taking a pointed sip of his drink. “We’re just _friends_. That’s all.” 

“Friends that suck each other’s dicks, or friends that sleep together?” Jun enquires. 

“How are those two things different?” Jihoon has his brow furrowed, as loudly unimpressed as he’s capable of being about anything to do with the subject. 

“Hello, haven’t you ever heard of a _bro job_?” Jun rolls his eyes. “Minghao and I used to do it all the time before we got together.”

“Jun.” Soonyoung says. “Think about what you just said.”

“What?” Jun scoffs. “It’s _different_. That’s when we still thought we were keeping things strictly no strings attached. _Platonic._ You can platonically give someone a blowjob.”

“Uh, no. You can’t.” Jihoon says. 

“Anyway, Wonwoo.” Soonyoung bats his eyes in Wonwoo’s direction. How big _is_ Kim Mingyu anyway? You never told us.” 

“Don’t change the subject, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo replies smoothly. “Personally, I vote yes for bro jobs. It’s like stress relief.”

Jihoon’s jaw drops, eyes widening at Wonwoo in outright betrayal and disgust. “Jeon Wonwoo… _et tu, Brute?_ As if making someone come could ever be strictly platonic!”

“Maybe I just want to find a nice man to be my friend and do friend things with and maybe sometimes give each other orgasms.” Wonwoo shrugs languidly. “Friendship orgasms are underrated.”

“That’s the _literal_ definition of a romantic relationship,” Jihoon snaps.

Wonwoo arches a brow slowly in Jihoon’s direction, an unspoken nudge to the shoulder, before his eyes flicker to Soonyoung on his other side. Jihoon visibly pales, his jaw tightening as he reaches into his jacket pocket.

“I have to take a phone call.” Jihoon says, already rising from his chair. “Excuse me.”

Wonwoo’s going to have to take him out for drinks for low key — alright, _high key_ ; it was completely intentional — throwing him under the bus. But, for now, the attention of the table has been successfully averted.

Soonyoung doesn’t even spare a glance in Jihoon’s direction, but Wonwoo catches him swallowing, smoothing his palms over the tablecloth. Tell-tale signs of nervousness. _Panic_.

“So, Wonwoo.” Soonyoung forges on, anxiety melting into the curve of his Cheshire smile and the echoing half-moons of his eyes. “A _nice man_ who does friend things with you and gives you orgasms, huh? Sounds like a certain _Kim Mingyu_  could be the perfect candidate for that.”

Wonwoo lets out a groan, grip tightening on his glass of water that's suddenly seeming like a bad idea. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

One of the new employees down in evidence processing accidentally sets off the fire alarm on a Wednesday with some flammable residue from a narcotics case. The poor rookie gets an earful from his supervisor and dirty looks from half the precinct as they file out onto the parking lot, the designated emergency meeting spot for their building.

The SMPA has a long-standing blood feud with the Seoul Metropolitan Fire Service, the SMFS. For government departments relegated with the common goal of the safeguarding and protection of Seoul's citizens, the history of the feud between the SMPA and SMFS is an ancient and unbelievably trivial one. No one can say, exactly, what keeps it going other than the casual mutual resentment and pettiness that colours all the interactions between SMPA and SMFS officers when their jurisdictions just so happen to overlap.

Wonwoo is fairly sure that there are at least half a dozen officers in his precinct who would elect to stay behind in a burning building rather than deal directly with the SMFS.

Due to the fact that police precincts are classified as government buildings, the minor false alarm requires a mandatory safety clearing from the SMFS, meaning that Wonwoo’s entire office is forced to stand around outside the building as they wait for a fire truck to show up and survey the smoke damage done to a patch of ceiling on the third floor.

To add insult to injury, the firefighters haven’t even bothered to sound their siren. They roll up onto the street beside the precinct, two firefighters immediately jumping off the back and strolling leisurely inside the building.

Wonwoo sighs, turning to his phone and deciding to take the unexpected time he has on his hands to sort through his junk email and check his severely neglected Facebook notifications. There are two dozen Kakao messages from Soonyoung and their group chat that Wonwoo hasn’t opened yet because he’s reluctant to submit himself to more harassment and mockery about Kim Mingyu. 

“Wonwoo!”

That’s a strangely familiar voice, Wonwoo thinks to himself as he squints into the distance in the general direction of where the voice had been coming from.

“Wonwoo-hyung!” And then an all-too familiar face followed by all six-foot-something of Kim Mingyu comes ambling out of the building.

And what could  _you_  possibly be doing here, Wonwoo is about to ask, before he takes in the yellow firefighter uniform Mingyu’s currently wearing. 

 _Ah._ He’d never thought to ask what Mingyu does for a living. 

“Hi, hyung.” Mingyu says, jogging up to him with a bright, sunny smile on his face. And god, the uniform only serves to make him look even taller. Wonwoo was _sure_ there was only an inch or so of height difference between them.

“Hello, Mingyu.”

Soonyoung and all his stupid Kakao messages have literally managed to summon this man from thin air, Wonwoo thinks in disbelief.

“Hyung, I had no idea you were stationed at Mapo-gu! You never mentioned that you work with Seungcheol-hyung.”

“You know Seungcheol?” Wonwoo stifles his sigh. Of course he does. Kim Mingyu knows everyone in this city that’s tangentially related to Wonwoo, apparently.

“Uhuh, I introduced him to Jeonghan-hyung,” Mingyu says. “I’m basically the reason they’re dating.”

“That must be the ICU nurse at Severance that he won’t stop talking about.” Wonwoo has learned to tune Seungcheol out when he starts getting starry-eyed about his latest fling. He _has_ seemed more infatuated than usual with this one if the amount of time he spends sneaking glances at his phone and smiling starry-eyed to himself is any indication.

“That’s the one.” Mingyu answers, nodding. “They’re sickeningly cute together. If they get married and have kids I've made them promise to name their firstborn after me. Mingyu if it’s a boy, Minkyung if it’s a girl but I think Minkyung’s a cute name whatever gender identity the baby chooses.” 

Wonwoo blinks at the sudden influx of information. He’s used to Soonyoung and his rapid-fire way of talking but Mingyu’s thought patterns are more scattered and spontaneous, harder to follow.

“So, you’re a firefighter?”

“Just a volunteer.” Mingyu says casually, as if _just volunteering_ to be a firefighter is something unremarkable and utterly ordinary. “I’m actually a paramedic.”

Oh, _fantastic_. Not only is Kim Mingyu handsome, tall, and devastatingly sweet, he’s also a paramedic and volunteer firefighter. You couldn’t find a more unrealistically perfect man if high school Wonwoo, racked by adolescent lust and the awakenings of non-heterosexual desire, dreamed him up.

“You have time to do both?” Wonwoo asks, tempering his incredulity with a tone he hopes comes off as politely curious. 

“Not really, but I like being busy. It feels good to always be doing something useful, and anyway it’s not like —” 

“ _Kim Mingyu!_ Stop flirting with your hot detective and get your ass over here. You’ve got a job to do!”

Immediately, Mingyu goes bright red, the flush extending all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“ _Sorry, noona!_ ” He yells, turning behind him to the woman standing by the entrance of the precinct with her hands on her hips. “ _I’m coming!_ ”

“Well, uh. Duty calls, I guess? I’d better not keep Kaeun-noona waiting any longer, she’s scary when she’s angry.” Mingyu bites at his lip, rocking back on his heels. “It was good seeing you, hyung. Tell Seungcheol I said hi. Oh, and Byeol, too! We should —”

“ _For god’s sake_ , Kim Mingyu. You already gave him your number, just text him later!”

“Bye, hyung!” Mingyu shouts, grin brightening his whole face before he whirls on his heel and dashes off in the direction of the building. 

Wonwoo’s left standing there, feeling slightly winded even though Mingyu was the one who did all the talking.

 

 

\-----

 

 

On Fridays, Seungcheol likes to take the homicide department out for lunch as an incentive and reward for another week of hard work and (very idealistically, at least in Wonwoo’s opinion) filing all their necessary paper work on time. 

He doesn’t explain exactly _why_ today’s department lunch is being held at the cafeteria of Severance Hospital but it doesn’t take any particular degree of detective work to notice Seungcheol’s obvious edginess the closer they get to lunchtime. Wonwoo has a sneaking suspicion — a hunch, really, if you can even call it that — that it may have something to do with the ER nurse Mingyu had mentioned.

Wonwoo’s never actually met Jeonghan before but from the way Seungcheol spends all his time mooning over the man, he’s been led to believe he makes flowers grow just by smiling at them and is secretly an angel disguised as the most warm-hearted, beautiful and hard-working nurse in Seoul.

They’re rounding the corner to the cafeteria, varying expressions of disgruntlement and disbelief scattered amongst the ranks — hospital cafeterias, regardless of their size and prestige, being just about the last place any sane person would go to seek out a decent meal — when Wonwoo spots the back of a very familiar head.

“Mingyu-ah!” Seungcheol beats him to the punch, striding over to greet Mingyu enthusiastically. 

“Hyung! Hey, what’re you doing here?” Mingyu turns around, beaming in surprise and delight upon seeing Seungcheol. He’s dressed in a different uniform today, his broad shoulders fitted in a navy shirt, the neon yellow of the high-visibility coat denoting him as an emergency services worker clashing brilliantly with the blue. Even in the fluorescent eyesore of a jacket, he’s distractingly, uncompromisingly handsome.

“Hello, Mingyu.” Wonwoo says, trying helplessly to blink the neon stars from his eyes.

“Wonwoo-hyung! You too, huh? What brings you two to Severance?”

“Lunch with the homicide department.” Seungcheol answers. “And uh. Operation: _La Vie en Rose_.”

Mingyu’s mouth falls open in a shocked little ‘o’, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Oh, wow. That’s _today_?” 

“Yep. August 18th.” Seungcheol says, biting nervously at his lip. Mingyu lets out a light laugh, reaching out to clap Seungcheol on the shoulder and give him a solid, reassuring jostle.

“You’re gonna be just fine. You did everything we talked about, right?”

“Flowers: check. Kids: check. Cake: check.” Seungcheol goes white all of a sudden, his eyes widening comically. “ _Oh, fuck_ , the balloons. Mingyu, I don’t have _balloons_. What if he wanted balloons?”

“Hyung,” Mingyu says with a giggle, “Trust me. Jeonghanie-hyung isn’t going to care about balloons. He’s going to be too distracted with being swept off his feet by everything else you did. _Breathe._ ”

Seungcheol inhales, then exhales sharply, looking no less comforted by the distinct lack of balloons. Wonwoo looks between them both with a blank look, caught between his curiosity and his strict policy against discussing non-work related matters when he’s technically still on the job.

“Okay. _Okay._ I’m gonna go set up phase one then.” Seungcheol says, steeling himself with a look Wonwoo’s only seen cross his face when he’s about to head into the crossfires of arms dealers and mobsters. 

“Wait,” Wonwoo says. “What about lunch?”

“I’ll make it up to you guys next time!” Seungcheol yells over his shoulder, already disappearing down the corridor to initiate  _phase one_ of Operation: La Vie en Whatever.

“ _Ah_ ,” Mingyu sighs, pressing his hand to the right side of his chest. Wonwoo tries not to feel his heart twinge at how frustratingly cute he finds that. “Young love.” 

“You do know Seungcheol’s pushing thirty, right?”

“Young in the _metaphorical_ sense, hyung.” Mingyu counters. “It’s pure and soft, like first love. But real. And really cute. They go way back but Seungcheol-hyung still looks at Jeonghan-hyung like he’s his high school sweetheart or something.”

“Honestly?” Wonwoo says, tongue-in-cheek smile playing at his lips. “Sounds a bit clichéd to me.”

“All love should be like that, like the beginning. Like the way you first looked at someone and knew you were in love with them.” Mingyu gazes into the distance where Seungcheol had left them, his smile sweet and faraway like he’s slipped momentarily into a daydream. He shakes himself out of it after a beat, blinking at Wonwoo with a boyish smile still curved on his lips.

“I just remembered, I was planning on asking you if you were free tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Wonwoo arches a brow at him. “Why?”

“If you’re not doing anything I was thinking maybe you’d want to swing by my place for dinner. It’s no big deal if you can’t, but I’m gonna be cooking anyway, so, y’know.” Mingyu coughs, and runs a hand through hair Wonwoo had assumed was deliberately styled to look so artlessly windswept. “If you want to. Or if you’re like. In the neighbourhood… Of… your house.”

“I’d kill for a home-cooked meal, actually.” Wonwoo says. “I don’t really cook. Ever. I’d love to.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen a fraction, a micro-flicker of astonishment darting across his face before its gone, presumably caught off-guard by Wonwoo’s easy concession.

“Alright then. Okay.” Mingyu nods, his smile growing into a grin that lights up his whole face. “Come by around seven.”

“Should I bring anything? I could bring drinks, or something.” Wonwoo offers, feeling a little useless at the prospect of Mingyu cooking an entire meal for two people all on his own. 

“Just yourself. Um, and Byeol!”

“Of course.” 

Mingyu’s pager goes off then, the beeping sound cutting straight through the conversation and sending a look of alarm and resolve racing across Mingyu’s face.

“I gotta run, hyung. It was nice running into you though! I’ll see you and Byeol tomorrow.” Mingyu waves, warmth trailing in his wake like the afterimage of the sun seared into closed eyelids. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 **wonwoo > > >  69 gang gang  
**if anyone says sheer sex shirt again i am leaving his group chat and never coming back

 

 **jun  
**aw baby u kno u would miss us in a heartbeat

 

 **soonyoung**  
what’s wrong with the sheer sex shirt ??????  
it’s an excellent shirt  
you’ve seduced many hot strangers in that shirt. it has served you well

 

 **wonwoo**  
when i was in university, sure  
i can’t go around dressing like i’m a twenty something year old with nothing to lose anymore  
i have to have………. Standards

 

 **jihoon**  
true  
you’ve got some actual dignity to protect now

 

 **wonwoo**  
i want you all to know this has been extremely unhelpful and i’ve regretted all two hours i’ve wasted talking to you  
it’s literally 6:50pm and i’m sitting here in my boxers with nothing to fucking wear

 

 **jun**  
you should just go as is  
i’m sure he’d appreciate that ;))))))

 

 **soonyoung**  
jun. junathan. we can’t let tall dark handsome mingyu think our darling wonwoo is a floozy  
he has to be cool.  
tranquil as a forest  
but on fire within.

 

 **jihoon  
**soonyoung i swear to fucking god

 

 **soonyoung**  
he must be swift as a coursing river  
with all the force of a great typhoon. all the strength of a raging fire.

 

 **jihoon  
**what did we fucking say about abusing the acceptable level of disney lyrics per conversation

 

 **soonyoung**  
MYSTERIOUS AS THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON  
you can Never have too many *Mulan lyrics

 

 **wonwoo  
**how you’ve ever convinced anyone to sleep with you i’ll never know

 

 **soonyoung  
**do u think ur special or smth???? because neither do i

 

 **jun**  
what about the nice button-down i got you for christmas  
the midnight blue one

 

 **soonyoung**  
“mIDniGHt BluE” he’s so pretentious  
shut up it’s fucking navy

 

 **jun  
**you can tell me they’re navy after i cut holes in all your plaid co-ords

 

 **soonyoung**  
[AUDIBLE GASp]  
YOU WOULDN’T DARE  
jihoon tell him he wouldn’t dare

 

 **jihoon**  
wonwoo just fucking wear a nice sweater  
one that says “hot but approachable boy next door”  
man next door

**wonwoo  
**okay. nice sweater. Nice sweater. I can do that.

 

 **jun**  
keep us updated baby boy  
and good luck on your date <3333

 

 **wonwoo**  
it’s not a date  
we’re just friends

 

 **jun  
**good luck on your “it’s not a date we’re just friends” date <333333333

 

 **soonyoung**  
u gh my heart  
i feel like a proud mother watching him get dressed for his first date

 

 **jihoon**  
soonyoung you’ve contributed absolutely nothing to this conversation  
and you’re the one who has matching bffl leopard print t-shirts with him  
you’re automatically banned from ever giving any of us fashion advice ever

 

 **soonyoung**  
WOW. Wow.  
see if i’m going to let u and ur dick anywhere near me tonight, fashionably dressed or not

 

 **jun  
**yall cant text each other this bullshit ?

 

 **soonyoung  
**no! we keep our kinks public and consensually agreed upon like grown adults

 

 **jihoon  
**oh wow look at that turns out i'm /not/ free this weekend to hang out :( smth just came up

 

 **soonyoung**  
jihoonie please :((((((( u kno i was just JOKING  
junothy i was just joking i hope u kno that  
jihoon and i absolutely do not have sexual relations in public ever under any circumstances and especially nowhere near your house

 

 **jun**  
oh my god you monsters had sex on my BED?????? WHERE I SLEEP????  
i hate you both and hope you get blue balled forever goodbye

 

 

\-----

 

 

Wonwoo settles on a cream coloured knit sweater with a v-neck and contrasting black and red stripes along the collar. It’s warm, comfortable, and has never failed him in the past when he wanted to look presentable but like he wasn’t trying too overtly hard.

Byeol is sitting patiently licking at himself all over and wearing the bright red collar Wonwoo bought him a few months ago but only lets him wear on special occasions in case he somehow – _inevitably_ – ruins the expensive leather. This was back when Wonwoo was still debating the responsibilities of owning a puppy and had briefly considered taking him to a shelter. He’d been stocking up on food for Byeol at a fancy uptwon pet shop (because if Wonwoo was going to be looking after his very own pet for this first time they'd have to get nothing but the best) and saw the gold star pendant of the collar gleaming and had picked it up to take a closer look.

After that, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of Byeol wearing it, how dashing he’d look with the red stark against his dark fur. He’d bought it the next day and, _well_ , there was no point spending _that much money_ on a collar for a dog that he wasn’t going to keep. 

Both man and dog are dressed to impress tonight. Wonwoo lets Byeol out the door first, watching him scamper off in the direction of the elevator. He’d mentioned that they’d be visiting Mingyu last night but as always, Wonwoo isn’t entirely sure how much of their one-sided conversations Byeol comprehends. Maybe the word _Mingyu_ rings a bell, however, because Byeol only looks this especially excited when Mingyu’s involved.

They ride the elevator up to level 5, Byeol barking and dancing excitedly around in front of the elevator doors as they slowly roll open.

Wonwoo comes to a stop right in front of 5B, giving himself a silent moment of encouragement before reaching up to ring the bell.

“ _Coming!_ ” Mingyu’s voice sounds distant, as if he’s hollering all the way from the kitchen.  The door opens a few seconds later, Mingyu’s expression looking a little frazzled and nervous, but his hair is impeccably styled and curled comma-style, and he has a light blue button-up shirt rolled up to the elbows with a red apron layered over it that says 'HOT STUFF COMING THROUGH' in huge block letters.

Mingyu catches him staring at the apron and blushes, slapping a palm over the centre of his chest, fingers splayed over the text.

“It was a birthday present from one of my friends.” He mumbles, embarrassed but smiling boyishly in spite of himself.

“It’s… fitting.” Wonwoo says, tearing his eyes away from the way Mingyu’s hair curls just so over his forehead, drawing attention to just how pretty and symmetrical his face is.

“Thanks. You look — you look _amazing_. Both of you.” Mingyu blinks, smile unfurling swiftly, and then he’s ducking his feet to greet Byeol, laughing as Byeol leaps and licks at Mingyu all over his face, barking his delight. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that Byeol’s disturbing his perfectly styled hair and immaculate appearance.

Mingyu scoops Byeol up in his arms and tilts his chin at the dinner table. “Dinner’s almost ready. You go ahead and take a seat, I’ll just be five minutes.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to help with… uh.”

Mingyu chuckles, shaking his head and brushing past Wonwoo, Byeol tucked in the cradle of his elbow. “It’s alright. I’ve got everything handled. You can pour us some drinks if you like, though.”

Wonwoo hadn’t noticed until just now, what with Kim Mingyu standing right before him in all his home chef domestic god glory, but the smell wafting through Mingyu’s apartment is as close to heaven as he imagines simple, mortal senses could grasp. It smells like homemade food, like spices and herbs and warmth, like his mother’s kitchen or his beloved halmeoni’s cooking.

Mingyu heads back towards his kitchen and as Wonwoo draws closer to the dinner table all he can do is gaze open-mouthed at the spread of dishes already laid out on the dinner table.

“Mingyu.” He says, voice slightly strangled. “You — this is a _feast_.”

“Hm?” Mingyu hums absentmindedly, slipping Byeol a piece of meat in his open palm. “I wasn’t sure what you liked. So, I made a bit of everything.”

Wonwoo’s never seen so much food in his life. And it’s all for _him_.

“This is… this is _too much_ , Mingyu.” 

Mingyu waves him off, and then saunters over to the stove to stir something in a pot and sprinkle some herbs over some vegetables sizzling in a pan. “Oh, we don’t have to finish it all today. But you can take leftovers home and I’ll probably take some to the Ko family on the fourth floor and maybe even the ahjumma on your floor if she’s in a good mood.” 

Jesus. Wonwoo had no idea Mingyu was cooking enough to feed an entire army. If he’d known he might have brought reinforcements.

“I eat a lot, so it’s fine.” Mingyu reassures him. “And you’re going to eat a lot too, right, hyung?”

Mingyu’s peering at him with these big, cute eyes and Wonwoo doesn’t know how to say _this is more than I could ever possibly deserve_ without sounding ungrateful and driving the happy, contented expression from his face.

“Of course I will.” Wonwoo says, his resistance to puppy eyes grown soft and weak from prolonged exposure to Byeol.

Mingyu looks perfectly at home in the kitchen, more so than any grown man Wonwoo’s ever known. He moves around it like someone with decades of culinary experience, tasting dishes with a clean spoon and adding dashes of this and that seasoning without any measurements. With the hair and the rolled-up sleeves and statuesque height, he could be a handsome idol-actor filming a CF for a new cooking show.

Wonwoo opens the expensive-looking bottle of wine Mingyu’s set in the middle of the table next to two wine glasses and sets about pouring them some drinks for lack of anything better to do.

Byeol pads over and sits by his feet, tail wagging and eyes bright as he peers up at Wonwoo. He hasn’t even made a dive for the veritable buffet laid out on the dinner table yet so Wonwoo has to assume Mingyu’s been feeding him his fair share of appetisers in the meantime. 

“Almost done, hyung.” Mingyu says, plating up what looks like tteokboki and kimchi jjigae. He brings those over to the table before making another trip to the stove to fill two bowls of rice.

“Ah, Wonwoo-hyung?” Mingyu calls out. “Would you mind helping me out for a second?” 

“Sure,” Wonwoo replies, heading into the kitchen. “What can I do?”

“Please take these out for me.” Mingyu says, holding out the bowls of rice. “I’ll be right out with the dak-galbi.”

Wonwoo takes a step towards Mingyu, and above the heat and warmth of the delicious homemade food, he can smell a hint of cologne. Sandalwood and amber, strong and distinctly masculine, with notes of sweetness laced all the way through.

He lets out a small exhale, taking the bowls from Mingyu without making eye contact, because his brain can't handle being this close to someone _this_ atrractive who can cook and smells  _this_ good, and dutifully carries them out to the dinner table. When Mingyu comes out behind him with a platter of freshly seared meat, they look like they’re about to sit down to eat a ten-course meal for four people.

“Please enjoy the meal! Let’s eat!” Mingyu smiles, brandishing his chopsticks before diving in with the gusto of a man who hasn’t eaten anything all day. Which, come to think of it, may be a distinct possibility given how much time it must have taken to prepare and make all these dishes. Everything from the pickled radish and gamjajeon side dishes to the bulgogi and japchae has been expertly cooked and arranged as if for an upscale restaurant and not a simple homecooked dinner.

“When did you even have time to make all this?” Wonwoo asks, restraining the attempt to make appreciative noises at his bite of perfectly seared pork.

“Seungcheol-hyung,” Mingyu answers, swallowing around a mouthful of noodles, “Owed me a favour.”

“Does this have anything to do with a certain ER and pediatric nurse?”

“Uhuh.” Mingyu slurps down another impossibly large bite of food. “I helped him plan his anniversary surprise for Jeonghan-hyung.”

“I can’t believe it’s been two years for them already.”

“It feels like it’s been longer honestly. But he took Jeonghan to Jeju for a weekend last year so he wanted to do something special this year to top that.”

“The roses and balloons?” 

Mingyu nods, cheeks full as he chews thoroughly before answering. “He had some of Jeonghan’s patients from the pediatric ward hold up signs they decorated spelling out _Jeonghan I love you_ , y’know, ‘cause the only thing Jeonghan-hyung loves more than Seungcheol is his kids. And then he had someone page Jeonghan about a fake emergency in one of the private rooms that he filled with hundreds of purple roses.” 

Mingyu pauses, bending to slip Byeol, who’s probably been whining and fussing at his feet from the lack of attention, some food under the table. “He came up with the roses on his own but the kids helping out was all me.” 

Wonwoo stares in pointed disbelief. When Mingyu straightens, he catches a glimpse of Wonwoo’s expression and lets out a chuckle.

“Does it sound really over the top?”

“I’m sure that Jeonghan-hyung loved it.” Wonwoo says. _Who is this man and which syndicated romantic drama did he walk right out of?_ “Very romantic.” 

Mingyu’s lips curve into a smile. “Isn’t that what everyone wants? For someone to love them enough that they’d go above and beyond just to do something special for them?”

The question, thankfully, sounds rhetorical, sparing Wonwoo from having to come with a stock answer. Mingyu turns the conversation from Seungcheol and Jeonghan and their very romantic, very extravagant anniversary celebrations to Wonwoo. He asks him about his work, and his family, and how he likes being a detective. He asks about Byeol, eyes glimmering as Wonwoo admits he was always more of a cat person but had come into Byeol’s guardianship after his ex-girlfriend left to pursue a career abroad.

Mingyu talks about himself, too, about his little sister and his parents, his friends, Minghao the fashion designer and artist’s muse, and Seokmin, a songwriter and rising soloist at a major company. 

Talking to Mingyu doesn’t feel like he’s talking to an acquaintance he’s known for less than two weeks. Mingyu has a way of listening to you that makes you feel heard, makes you feel like you’ve known him all your life and you’re catching up with an old friend. He’s attentive, and inquisitive, childlike about his curiosity and eager to know everything there is to know and it's very, very easy to make him laugh. It’s charming, and endearing, and Wonwoo can’t imagine anyone meeting Kim Mingyu and not finding at least a dozen reasons to like him.

When Wonwoo glances at his watch and sees that it’s 9:34pm, it’s surprising but also not at all. He feels like he could sit here with Mingyu for another few hours and feel the night pass in a blink of a second.

Mingyu insists on packing several plastic Tupperware containers with food for Wonwoo to take home with him. He sweeps Byeol up into his arms for one last goodbye kiss and lingers by the door to say goodnight.

“Thank you, Mingyu, really. For everything.” Wonwoo says. “You didn’t have to do all of this just for me.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I did, though. I gave you jjampong last time and you can’t eat fish.”

Wonwoo chokes on his inhale. “ _What?_ How… how did you know I don’t eat seafood?” 

“Seungcheol-hyung spilled everything when I mentioned giving you some leftovers,” Mingyu replies, lips forming the beginnings of a pout. “You should’ve said something! I feel terrible. I could’ve killed someone with some seafood noodles.”

“I’m not allergic.” Wonwoo reassures him, feeling oddly defensive for the first time about his dislike for seafood. He’s hated the taste of fish since he was old enough to refuse to eat it but he’s never felt _guilty_ about it until now. “I just… can’t eat it.” 

Mingyu sighs, pout now fully-formed. “ _Still._ You should’ve said something. And you didn’t have to force yourself to eat it!” 

“I didn’t want to be rude. And it would’ve been wasteful to just throw it out.”

“I guess…” Mingyu’s voice trails off, and his pout melts into a teasing smile. “Anyway, my cooking’s good enough that it didn’t taste too bad, right?”

“Your cooking is amazing, Mingyu. Seriously.” Wonwoo agrees. “Thank you again for the meal. _Meals._ Byeol and I will be eating like kings for the rest of the week.”

“Come over again soon, okay? I’ll cook for you another day.” 

“I will.” Wonwoo finds himself saying. “As long as you let me pay for dinner some other time.” 

“Alright. Goodnight, hyung. ‘Night, Byeol.” Mingyu beams, his line of sight lowering as he waves goodbye at Byeol.

“Goodnight, Mingyu. Thank you again for everything.”

Mingyu blows Byeol a kiss as they turn to leave and Wonwoo has to pretend he doesn't notice so he can't feel his heart jump. 

 

 

\-----

 

 

It’s a Saturday night and his typical stack of case files has dwindled down to the single, sad-looking folder on his coffee table. A string of small-time robberies mainly targeting convenience stores and mom-and-pop restaurants. It's not a case that’s going to take more than half an hour to solve, let alone the whole weekend.

The inertia, the sense of restlessness that comes with the prospect of his whole weekend suddenly stretching out before him on the horizon, limitless and full of potential, is exactly the kind of feeling Wonwoo hates. So, he does the next best thing and settles in for a forty-eight hour gaming session at his multi-screen gaming rig. Usually, this kind of intensive, full immersion gaming is saved for the hard cases. The long, rough weeks of cracking down on the city’s worst offenders, of escaping from reality and the incessant ticking of his own brain fixating on evidence and suspects and witness statements.

He’s in the middle of a brutal round of PUBG – 18 kills down and 9 people left in the game– when he hears a banging at the door.

It sounds impatient; this isn’t the first time the person has knocked to no response. Wonwoo huffs, pushes his glasses up higher along the bridge of his nose and leaves his character idling in the middle of the screen, a free kill for the next player who stumbles upon his hiding spot, chosen for its ideal sniper position and cover from all three sides.

Wonwoo opens the door to find Mingyu looking wide-eyed and abashed, as if finding himself face-to-face with Wonwoo on the doorstep of his apartment is somehow a surprise and not a natural consequence of knocking on his door. 

Mingyu blinks, eyes flickering from Wonwoo’s face to the ground before darting back up again as he clears his throat.

“Sorry to — sorry to bother you like this.” He starts, chagrin colouring his face already, unfalteringly transparent. “I had… a bad day at work and I was — I was wondering if I could, maybe… hang out with Byeol?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, and then closes it. It’s the first time in a while he’s been at such a loss for words. (Although, come to think of it the last few times he’s been stunned into speechlessness have all involved Kim Mingyu in some way or another.)

What exactly is someone _supposed_ to say when a grown man asks if he can hang out with your dog? Should Wonwoo feel offended he’s specifically asking for Byeol (and not, say, _him_ )? 

In the few seconds he’s had to observe Mingyu, his mind has already picked apart everything he needs to know. His shirt is creased, rumpled – unusual for someone he’s never seen in anything other than freshly laundered and pressed shirts – and there’s a dullness to Mingyu’s eyes, muted and overcast like metal that’s been left to tarnish. He’s good at hiding whatever it is that’s bothering him, good at obscuring it beneath a smile that gleams like fool’s gold. But standing in Wonwoo’s line of sight is like being put under a microscopic lens. Every insignificant flaw and discrepancy is magnified, spotlighted beneath the discerning focus of his gaze. 

“It sounds stupid,” Mingyu blurts out, the words tangling together and tripping over themselves in their hurry to stumble out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. This is — weird, right? It’s stupid, never mind I’ll just —”

“Sure.” Wonwoo says, interrupting Mingyu’s downward spiral into embarrassed backpedalling. Mingyu’s cute when he stutters, something Wonwoo can’t help but take note of like he does with everything else about Mingyu – _about everyone_ , but especially Mingyu – like his mouth is going a mile a minute and his lips haven’t yet learned how to catch up with his mind. “Come on in. You’ll make his day.”

“ _Really?_ ”

Mingyu’s face brightens a little, and it’s like witnessing a small firework blooming across his face, one that momentarily casts everything else in shadow and sharp relief. Wonwoo has to take a moment to remind himself that the look on his face is for his little monster of a dog. Not him.

“Really.” Wonwoo echoes, stepping back so Mingyu can come inside. “I’ve never seen him act like this around anyone else before. I’m actually kind of jealous.”

Mingyu looks bashful for an entirely different reason now, the tips of his ears tinging a soft rosy shade as he follows Wonwoo into his apartment. 

And either Byeol’s been eavesdropping somehow, or his Mingyu Senses started tingling the moment Wonwoo opened the door to find Mingyu on the other side, because he bursts out of the bedroom and comes bounding down the hallway heading straight for Mingyu. Mingyu drops immediately into a crouch, holding his arms out to catch Byeol as he leaps at him, licking his face and slobbering his excitement and affection all over Mingyu as he collapses dramatically to the ground with a muffled giggle. 

Wonwoo’s left standing on the side suppressing what is the most painful boner he’s ever had. And the worst thing is it's not even a physical boner. It's figurative; he can feel it in his _heart_.

He feels like an intruder in his own home, watching Byeol and his neighbour-acquaintance-object-of-repressed-desire re-enact what looks like the pivotal scene of the greatest love story ever told between a man and a dog: a movie. 

Mingyu rubs his fingers behind Byeol’s ears, scooping him up in his arms as he finally glances over at Wonwoo, too thrilled to even bother hiding his embarrassment. 

“Thanks, Wonwoo.” He says, smile tugging softly at his lips. Wonwoo feels something in the general vicinity of his chest ache like a pulled muscle. “I really needed this.”

“It’s nothing.” Wonwoo answers dismissively. “I told you he’d be thrilled to see you, didn’t I?” 

Mingyu curls in on himself, there’s no other way to describe the cute little motion he does with his shoulders as he sinks into himself slightly, tries to make himself seem smaller, to somehow take up less space. Byeol pants and wags his tail, eyes gleaming with his usual infallible sense of happy-go-lucky excitement. 

“Have you eaten yet?” 

“Huh?” Mingyu cocks his head. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“Well, I can’t cook, so I was planning on ordering some takeout.” Wonwoo holds up his phone and waves it at Mingyu. “You hungry?” 

“I — …are you sure, hyung?” Mingyu bites at his lip, running his fingers through Byeol’s fur absentmindedly. “I’d feel bad barging into your house like this and forcing you to treat me to dinner, too.” 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, I’m offering.” Wonwoo replies, tapping his order into the home delivery app he’s already pulled up on his phone. “Go sit down on the couch and pick out a Netflix movie or something.”

“Okay, hyung.” Mingyu says after a beat, Byeol still cradled in his arms like a baby as he heads over to the couch. Wonwoo takes a seat beside him and Byeol squirms out of Mingyu’s arms to claim the spot between them, right in the centre of the couch. He wriggles around for a bit, determined to find a comfortable spot squished between their legs, and then Mingyu scratches at the top of his head and Byeol settles with a little snuffling sound.

“How does jjajangmyeon and fried chicken sound?”

“Sounds perfect.”

As Wonwoo’s confirming their order, Mingyu lets out a snicker beside him. Wonwoo arches a brow, following Mingyu’s gaze to the screen.

“…Seriously?”

“C’mon, hyung, _Die Hard_ is a classic. It’s a cinematic masterpiece.”

“It’s completely unrealistic is what it is. Bruce Willis should’ve died within the first half hour. One NYPD detective against an entire team of elite mercenaries? Please.” 

“You’re just jealous John McClane single-handedly took down a dozen men without breaking into a sweat.”

“Oh, _sure_ , I wish I could say _Yippee ki yay, motherfucker_ and magically transform into an unstoppable killing machine. Yippee ki yay my _ass_.”

Mingyu chuckles, tipping his head back against the couch. “Who knew you were such a _Die Hard_ anti.” 

“I’m not an anti, I just have taste.” Wonwoo shoots him a look, brows arched like they always do when he’s about to make a point. “ _Oldboy._ _The Man From Nowhere._ _A Bittersweet Life._ Real cinematic masterpieces. Meanwhile Hollywood’s pumping out _Transformers 5_ like trashy CGI and shitty franchises are going out of business.” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t see this before, you’re a literal snob.”

“Is _exactly_ what someone who likes objectively awful CGI blockbusters would say.”

Mingyu snorts, rolling his head to the side and scrunching his face at Wonwoo. When he relaxes his disgruntled expression, he seems to pause in the action, stilling as he stares at Wonwoo. It’s unsettling having his face only a couple feet away; it’s _unjust_ that he’s even more handsome and distracting up close. There’s a lock of hair curling down across Mingyu’s forehead, feathered slightly where it falls over his eyes.

“What?” Wonwoo murmurs, prompted by a sudden self-consciousness and a terrible urge to reach out and touch Mingyu’s hair. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I’ve never seen you in glasses before.” 

There’s something Wonwoo can’t decipher in Mingyu’s expression — he always looks soft, so open and vulnerable, unafraid to reveal exactly what he’s thinking and feeling; it’s not that. It’s the absence of anything else on his face, no trace of duplicity or ulterior motive. Not even a hint of thinly veiled lust or desire. Wonwoo is all too familiar with the look of poorly concealed desire on someone’s face. It’s why he’s terrible on first dates. _Especially_ blind dates. He can’t help his brain from scrutinising every minute reaction and facial expression, dissecting and analysing for meaning and _intention_ ; it’s instinct.

At first, he’d had his suspicions about why Mingyu had shown up at his doorstep. Now, he’s not so sure. He doesn’t know if this feeling of being left adrift, no leads or tells to latch onto, is more like a breath of fresh air, or like a zero-gravity plummet through empty space. 

“I only wear them at home, or when I’m not at work.”

“And you’re always at work.” Mingyu smiles, and he looks tired even as the corners of eyes crinkle, curved into little half-moons. “They suit you. The glasses.”

Wonwoo’s mouth curls, an almost smile hovering on his own lips. Byeol gives a light _yip_ and noses his face into Mingyu’s thigh, demanding to have his monopoly of all the attention in the room back. Mingyu concedes immediately, stroking his fingers softly across Byeol’s forehead.

Wonwoo waits, the sounds of John McClane and his vastly unrealistic one-man suicide mission in Nakatomi Plaza playing on in the background as he works out how he wants to say this.

“I know that we don’t know each other very well.” He keeps his gaze levelled on Mingyu, watching as Mingyu continues to gently pet Byeol, fingers carding through the soft fur on the top of his head and below his chin. “But you can talk about it if you want. I’m a very good listener.”

“You’d have to be, right? Detective Jeon.” There’s a light teasing in Mingyu’s voice as he says it, attention distracted by Byeol.

“Well, sure. But as plain old Wonwoo, too. It helps, to talk. Or so I’ve heard.” 

Mingyu falls quiet, something that Wonwoo’s noticed from their very first encounter is highly uncharacteristic of him. He looks like he’s debating with himself whether or not to speak with the free pass Wonwoo’s given him. It occurs to Wonwoo suddenly that for all that Mingyu loves to talk, for all that he seems incapable of withstanding silence without feeling the urge to fill it with sound, he might not be all that comfortable with opening himself up to people in any way that really matters.

Wonwoo’s comfortable in the quiet. And he waits as Mingyu fidgets, shifting his weight in his seat and reaching to play with Byeol’s ears. When Mingyu speaks, Wonwoo recognises his voice with a flicker of cold dread. 

It’s the timbre that police officers and emergency services professionals fall into without even realising, the detachment from the story they’re about to tell. The mind’s natural defence mechanism against all the horror and trauma that has nowhere else to go, no other way of being expressed. 

“We were dispatched to a 10-15 late last night.”

Wonwoo’s expecting the thousand-yard stare, the slip into dissociative distance and unsentimentality. He’s seen it a hundred times and never faulted the person behind it for doing what was necessary to guard themselves from the worst parts of being on the frontlines of human monstrosities or arbitrary tragedies. But Mingyu — Mingyu’s eyes are sharp. Wide open. Lit with intensity, like the heat of simmering coal still burning long after the fire has gone out.  

“It was… it was just meant to be a domestic disturbance. But then we showed up and the father was — he had a _gun_. He threatened to kill himself and his wife and daughter. The mother had… she was bleeding from a head wound and had all the signs of —” Mingyu stops himself, swallowing around the difficulty of saying it aloud. “We were so close to being too late. He lunged at his wife before the officer could disarm him. And she — she hit the ground so hard I thought she might not even make it to the ER.” 

This is where a civilian would be compelled to speak. The tragedy and awfulness marinating in their discomfort and open revulsion to something so terrible being spoken of so bluntly.

Wonwoo waits. 

“I keep… I keep thinking _what if we’d been a few minutes too late_. What if she’d never gotten to her phone.” Mingyu’s fingers are curled in knots through Byeol’s fur now, seeking comfort by anchoring himself to the solidness of Byeol. 

“I keep. Wondering about all the cases that we never even hear about. The ones who are still fighting to get away.” 

Mingyu retreats inside himself, and Wonwoo doesn’t know how he does it but he seems to fold up on himself. He looks small, and _fearful_ , and so very vulnerable. As if his entire being is aching for these men and women and children he’ll never know or meet. Wonwoo knows what it means to walk into the line of fire for people who will never understand the true cost of your sacrifice, but he’s never seen someone bleed for them like this before.

“Mingyu.” Wonwoo says. “I know it’s hard to hear and even harder to believe what I’m saying but _what you do is enough_.”

They have to believe it. They have to wear their bleeding hearts on their sleeves or beneath Kevlar body armour, and go to work every day in the belief that what they do to protect this city and its people is enough. 

It has to be.

“You are not responsible for saving people from all the bad things that happen that you don’t know about. You’re doing what you can. We all are. And what you do is brave, and worthwhile. I don’t know what would have happened if you’d been a few minutes too late but I _do_ know that because of you, there are at least two people whose lives are better off today, and tomorrow and hopefully, the rest of their lives.”

Mingyu, who’s been silent this entire time, draws in this soft, shuddering breath through his teeth. Wonwoo knows Mingyu doesn’t need him to say this, he’s strong enough to be aware of it. But he knows, too, what it’s like to live with the unbearable certainty that the extent of human suffering and cruelty and injustice is greater than their capacity for kindness. For compassion. It’s a terrible way to exist, and an even worse way to wage war with yourself, a constant battleground in your mind between the way the world is and _the way it should be_.

But the only way the world is ever going to become a place worth living in is if there are people like Mingyu, people like him, who wake up every morning so they can help build something better. Something worthwhile.

“You make a difference every day you save someone, or help someone, or touch their lives in some small way. It might not seem like it to you but it means everything that you’re out there doing what you do.”

It’s Mingyu who reaches for him first, _his_ hand, rough and calloused and thick with old scars, searching out Wonwoo’s. Their palms hover over each other, kindling heat, and then Mingyu slips his fingers through the spaces between Wonwoo’s, pressing their hands together.

“Thank you.” Mingyu says softly, his voice hushed and precarious, like his throat is knotted, eyes big and shining with unshed tears. Wonwoo can feel the walls of his heart melting and reforming around the swell of softness in his chest. “Thanks. I. Thank you for saying that.”

Wonwoo’s mouth tugs into a small smile. “It’s alright. I get it.” 

Mingyu’s eyes flicker down, embarrassed, and he glances at their hands as if he’s just realising their fingers have somehow been intertwined.

“Sorry.” Mingyu huffs, fingers growing lax around Wonwoo’s in an exhale of chagrin and sudden bashfulness like he means to let go. “I —”

Wonwoo brushes the pad of his thumb across the back of Mingyu’s hand.

It’s soft, steady.

“I talk too much,” Mingyu blurts out, but lets his fingers still. “Look at me getting all emotional, I shouldn’t have —” 

“It’s okay.” Wonwoo murmurs, smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. “I’m not going to think any less of you just because you displayed some genuine human emotions about a traumatising incident that happened at work.” 

Mingyu splutters, mouth gaping as he struggles to find the words. “I just. It feels weird. I don’t know. Sorry. I’m not used to talking about this.” 

“Stop apologising,” Wonwoo chastises gently. “I get it. Maybe not exactly everything, but I get it. It’s the same for me after a rough case.”

Mingyu lets out the breath he’s been fighting, sagging into the couch like a puppet being cut loose from its strings. He’s still holding onto Wonwoo’s hand, fingers warm against the spaces between Wonwoo’s. 

“My ex never wanted to hear about it. Said it was too much. I guess I… got used to just keeping it all in so it wouldn’t scare him.”

Wonwoo’s never been one to tell a near stranger how to conduct their business in their own love lives but _that_ seems like an unhealthy basis for a relationship. It’s hard, being in a relationship with a cop or an ER doctor or a paramedic, but sacrifice is an inherent part of being with someone you care about enough to make them a permanent fixture in your life. No one should have to suppress a part of themselves and their suffering just because it’s hard to swallow.

“Well.” Wonwoo says slowly. “You know where I live. If you ever want to talk, I’m always here. Figuratively and literally.” He squeezes Mingyu’s hand for good measure.

Mingyu lets out a watery chuckle, and squeezes back. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Alright. Now can we get this infuriatingly bad action movie off my screen and put on some Ghibli or something?”

“If it’s _Spirited Away_ I’ll let you off the hook for calling cinematic masterpiece _Die Hard_ a “bad action movie”.” 

“Deal.”

Wonwoo pulls up Netflix, and neither of them mentions how even after they let go of each other's hands their thighs stay pressed together for the rest of the movie, Byeol tucked right in between them, warm and right and just a little too close.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 **mingyu > > >  wonwoo-hyung  
**hyung what kind of food does Byeol like?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung**  
well, he’s a dog.  
he also eats just about everything

 

 **mingyu**  
everything…  
like wagyu beef?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**kim mingyu don’t you /dare/ buy my tiny monster of a dog wagyu beef

 

 **mingyu**  
but why :(((((( he deserves it  
also byeol has a very refined palate?  
i’ve fed him expensive meat before and he seems to prefer it over the usual stuff. i think he can tell the difference between them

 

 **wonwoo-hyung**  
trust me, mingyu, you could feed him literal garbage from a dumpster and he’d dig in like it was a three michelin star meal  
he’s always like that when it comes to you

 

 **mingyu  
**soooooo wagyu is a no?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**absolutely not

 

 **mingyu  
**what about kobe?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**no

 

 **mingyu**  
but i want to treat him!!  
fine maybe i’ll save it for his birthday  
when /is/ his birthday, by the way?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**july 29th

 

 **mingyu**  
oh, he’s a leo!!!!  
i knew that’s why i clicked with him so fast  
hell yeah leo-aries solidarity  
btw are you free next friday night?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**i think so

 

 **mingyu**  
ok good cause you should come over for dinner i’m gonna make lamb skewers  
byeol is invited too ofc

 

 **wonwoo-hyung**  
let me at least buy desert or drinks. or Something  
i feel bad always turning up empty-handed

 

 **mingyu  
**you’re not coming empty-handed! you’re bringing the most important thing

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**myself?

 

 **mingyu**  
lol i was gonna say byeol but yes hyung  
you as well  
♥

 

\-----

 

 

Here’s the thing – despite how much time he spends on his own, in the comfort of his mind and space, Wonwoo isn’t lonely.   

He doesn’t know how to explain it without coming off as arrogant or self-absorbed – and don’t get him wrong, he _loves_ his friends, they’re the handful of people who’ve stuck with him this long to differentiate between standoffishness and a need to breathe, to be himself, to simply _be_ without anyone else around – but it’s just how things have always been.

He’s perfectly at ease being alone. He actively _enjoys_ being by himself. He’s been living alone since he was twenty-one when he struck gold in his third year of university and found a cheap, decent studio apartment not too far from campus and within walking distance of the subway.

Loneliness is a strange concept to Wonwoo. There’s nothing, by definition, that he can’t do better, or more comfortably, alone.

It sounds decidedly antisocial, or conceited, but he’s always enjoyed the quiet and freedom of solitude. He goes where he wants, does what he pleases, with no social expectations or niceties or need to overthink what he’s saying or doing or projecting out into the world. His favourite hobbies are all things he does alone – reading, listening to music, watching movies, gaming. He’s comfortable being alone, surrounded by nothing but his own thoughts.

Before Soojin, his last girlfriend that left with him Byeol, he’d only dated two other people. The first was Park Sooyoung, the top student of his year and considered the prettiest _and_ nicest girl in his high school by unanimous agreement. Wonwoo had been surprised when she’d confessed on Valentine’s Day, having never spoken to her before. They’d dated for three months before she’d admitted that she thought it was best if they broke up so they could focus on their entrance exams, and so they did exactly that. She’d been too sweet to say so, but Wonwoo was certain she’d only held out for twelve weeks out of sheer determination to see her infatuation through to the end and was disappointed when he didn't live up to her fantasy.

The second person he ever dated he met in his first year of university, when he’d felt for the very first time in his life a certain pressure to experience the university life as he’d always been told it would be. It felt disingenuous and forced, going to department parties, getting drunk on weeknights and pretending to be the sociable, witty, interesting person he could so easily let himself believe he was. As if he was being given a script every night when he went out to Have Fun and Enjoy Being Young, when everyone else had been told to improvise and simply  _be themselves_. Wonwoo met Kim Seokwoo through a mutual friend from his department. They’d struck up an easy friendship founded on their shared love of cinematography and cats and one night when they were heading home after a drinking party with their friends, Seokwoo had kissed him.

They’d been _somethings_ for nearly half a year before that, so Wonwoo can see why Seokwoo blames him for why they barely lasted six months.

 _You don’t let me in_ , Seokwoo had said on their final night, when everything fell to pieces. _At some point, you drew a line in the sand between friend and boyfriend and I don’t think you know what it means to let someone be there for you._

Wonwoo had asked him, plain as day, what Seokwoo wanted him to do, how he could fix this, how he could be _better_.

And Seokwoo had shaken his head, a small, sad smile on his face, pity shining dully in his eyes. _You close yourself off from everyone so no one can hurt you. And now no one’s ever going to get close enough to prove to you they won’t._

Wonwoo had watched him leave, wordless, too stunned and devastated by what he’d said to even try to stop him. 

 _I don’t close myself off_ , he’d thought. _I’m comfortable with who I am, with my boundaries and what I keep to myself, there’s a difference._ There is.

He’s self-sufficient and self-reliant, not by necessity but by choice. That need for validation and comfort and acceptance people seek from others? He’s never needed it. 

It’s not about being hurt, or protected. But sure, maybe Wonwoo has certain barriers up around him. Barbed wire walled around parts of himself that are closed off to even himself, let alone everyone else. The way he never talks about his father. The fact that it took him years to be comfortable with saying he was bisexual out loud with anyone other than his closest friends. Small, insignificant things like that. 

Wonwoo isn’t lonely, being able to experience _loneliness_ would mean living with a constant desperation to be seen, _to be heard_ , and who the hell wants to live like that? 

After Soojin left him with Byeol, Wonwo had spent three weeks debating whether or not to take Byeol to the local shelter. He’d found several prospective owners for him but the shelter had been willing to take care of Byeol until he finalised the details.

In the end, it was Byeol who decided for him.

Wonwoo had come home from a particularly harrowing case, a murder-suicide, the epitome of how ugly and beyond redemption people can become when they’re driven to their worst instincts by their need for intimacy, for love. He’d come home to find yet another pair of destroyed shoes and the wreckage of his living room. Byeol had laid waste to his pillows and a few library books Wonwoo would never be able to return, and on the middle of his coffee table, the chewed-up remains of the transfer papers for the shelter he’d been meaning to have signed and sent off tomorrow.

But Byeol had seen him, wavering in the hallway as he toed off his shoes and set his briefcase down with a sigh that wracked through his bones, a tiredness that sank right down to the soul, and came trotting over to nuzzle at his ankles.

He’d let Wonwoo pick him up without fighting or squirming and Wonwoo, motivated by some unconscious need to not be alone, had lost an hour or two sitting on his battered couch petting Byeol. Byeol was on his best behaviour for the rest of the week, ashamed by all appearances about what he’d done that day, and had tried his absolute hardest to make up for it by waking Wonwoo up by licking at his face and acting cute whenever he caught Wonwoo’s attention.

Wonwoo had decided not to get another copy of the transfer papers, and just like that, Byeol became a somewhat permanent fixture in his life.

Dogs, he’s come to realise, don’t care if you’ve got a lifetime’s worth of emotional baggage or intimacy issues. Their small hearts are big when it counts, and Wonwoo’s never really been a dog person, but for Byeol, he’d turn his whole world upside down in a heartbeat.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Byeol’s smarter than he looks, at least when his self-interest is involved. He’s been hovering around Wonwoo, gazing at him with wide, unblinking eyes, and trying to surreptitiously nudge his leash closer to Wonwoo every time he looks way.

Saturdays are Park Day. Usually Wonwoo will take him out on a quick, ten minute walk before or after work just to let him run around and get some fresh air and do his business but Saturdays are when they go out to the park a few blocks from the apartment. Saturdays, Byeol gets to run free for almost a whole hour as Wonwoo sits and reads on a park bench or catches up on some paperwork on his laptop. Byeol’s always impatient about it, the excitement and anticipation building from Friday morning and lasting till Saturday as he attempts to stay on his best behaviour in the hopes Wonwoo will see his efforts and reward him by going out earlier.

Wonwoo muffles his laugh into his hand as Byeol sits quietly by his feet and paws at the ground, his small fluffy body curled around his leash as he peers up at him, eyes pleading and hopeful.

He relents ten minutes later, getting up from his desk to stretch and get a glass of water. The sun seems distracted, slipping glimpses of the sky behind a layer of clouds, but the weather’s made a promise to clear up later withthe blue of a fine day peeking through with the sunlight. Wonwoo ruffles Byeol’s hair, stroking over his forehead as Byeol yips and shoots to his feet. He barks triumphantly, running around Wonwoo in circles as Wonwoo reaches for the leash.

“Yah, come here, you little rascal.” Wonwoo huffs. “Let me put this on you and then we can go.”

Byeol butts his head against Wonwoo’s leg, panting and wagging his tail but coming to a stand still at Wonwoo’s feet. He’s about to click the leash onto Byeol’s collar when his phone chirps with a notification.

 

 

 **mingyu > > >  wonwoo-hyung  
**hey hyung

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**hi mingyu

 

 **mingyu  
**did you know that dogs can literally smell when you’re happy or sad?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**it sounds familiar. i did a bunch of research on dogs back when soojin first told me she wanted to adopt a dog

 

 **mingyu**  
oh  
cool! :D  
ok but did you know three dogs survived the sinking of the titanic? their names were lady, sun yat-sen and this other pomeranian but they didn’t find out its name

 

 **wonwoo  
**that’s all very interesting mingyu but is there any particular reason you’re telling me all this?

 

 **mingyu**  
idk i thought i might impress u with all my excellent dog-related knowledge  
in case like, you ever wanted me to walk byeol or babysit him sometime  
well, not babysit. he’s more like a friend so i guess like a hang out? we could hang out if you ever needed someone to look after him for a night or something

 

 **wonwoo  
**i’ll keep that in mind, thanks mingyu

 

 **mingyu**  
it's no problem at all :)  
what’re you doing right now anyway?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**i was just about to take byeol out for a walk

 

 **mingyu**  
oh cool. Nice. nice  
can i…  
would it be super weird to ask if i can come?

 

 **wonwoo-hyung**  
we’re literally just going to be heading around the block to the local park, it’s really very unexciting. but sure, if you want?  
meet us outside my place in 5

 

 **mingyu  
**ok thanks!!! cause i got him something and i want to see if he likes it

 

 **wonwoo-hyung  
**mingyu what did i say about buying him things

 

 **mingyu  
**see u in 5mins hyung ♥

 

 

Wonwoo glances down at the Nike windbreaker he’d put on, the yellow and pink and blue colour block standing out garishly against his plain black Adidas track pants and shoes. Fashion is the last thing on Wonwoo’s mind when it comes to dressing himself on a daily basis – his work uniform consists of long coats and dark sweaters, sleek and minimalistic. The clothes he wears at home or off-duty are another story entirely.

Wonwoo’s never cared much for fashion, but on the handful of occasions he’s seen Mingyu outside of _his_ work, it’s obvious the man’s got an appreciation for style and good dress sense. 

He considers changing, briefly thinks about putting on a nice sweater and the soft grey coat he bought a few months ago and doing something with his hair other than running his fingers through it. And then he thinks about how _ridiculous_ it is to be agonising over his outfit choices when Mingyu texted him a whole five minutes ago and all they’re going to be doing is walking Byeol in the park. Not to mention, dressing up just to walk his dog with his neighbour is passing the borders of _what the hell are you doing, Jeon Wonwoo_ and entering the no man’s land of _why do you care so much what_ he _thinks?_

The knock at the door saves Wonwoo from spiralling any further into the depths of existential crisis and light panic, and Byeol rushes enthusiastically to bark at the door.

Mingyu, just as Wonwoo had expected, looks like a model coming out of the backstage area of a runway show. He’s wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt but with his frame, and the way clothes just seem to fit like they're tailor-made for him, he manages to make the outfit look effortlessly styled. He smiles, handsome face lighting up and Wonwoo feels awkward and self-conscious in a way that he hasn’t felt since middle school.

“Hey, hyung.” Mingyu’s canines peek through his smile, and combined with the outfit and the air of nonchalant street style icon, it’s intimidatingly attractive. “Cute jacket.”

“Thanks.” Wonwoo says, fighting himself not to look away.

“And how’s my favourite person in the world?” Mingyu coos, squatting to give Byeol his customary hug and nose kiss. Byeol greets him like he’s greeting his long-lost owner. Hachiko waiting at Shibuya Station every day for nine years and nine months and fifteen days reunited at last with his master.

Mingyu cups Byeol’s face in his large hands, giggling as Byeol sinks his face into Mingyu’s hands and makes soft, contented sounds. 

Wonwoo is _not_ jealous. At all. ( _Of either of them._ ) 

“And look, I’ve got a surprise for you.” Mingyu lifts up the small bag he’d brought with him, and reaches inside to take out a little whale-shaped toy. He squeaks it a few times and Wonwoo watches Byeol’s face visibly brighten like he’s looking at his new favourite inanimate object.  “Cool, huh? We can play with it when we’re at the park.” 

Byeol jumps up and licks his gratitude all over Mingyu’s cheek as Mingyu lets out another round of high-pitched laughter.

Wonwoo clears his throat, picking up the end of Byeol’s leash. “You guys ready to go?” 

“We’re ready!” Mingyu cheers, getting to his feet. Byeol lets out a bark of agreement, bouncing with excitement.

“C’mon, Byeol, let’s go!” 

They head down the elevator and out of the building and Wonwoo catches Mingyu gazing longingly at his hand, the one that’s holding Byeol’s leash, four separate times.

“Mingyu,” he sighs, after the fifth time when they’re rounding the corner of their apartment block. “If you want to hold his leash, you can say so.”

Mingyu ducks his head, looking small and embarrassed. “I don’t know. Isn’t this your father-son bonding time? I don’t want to intrude or anything..”

Wonwoo holds Byeol’s leash out to him. “You’re not. I think this means more to you than it does to me right now. And honestly, I’m more like his estranged uncle if anything.”

Mingyu takes the leash with a look of soft, muted awe, as if Wonwoo’s entrusted him with something precious and dear and he can’t quite believe it.

“Thanks, hyung.” A little smile tucks into the corners of his lips. “And that’s not true. Byeol loves you. He might not… uh, see you as an authority figure, exactly? But you’re definitely like a cool older brother.”

Wonwoo snorts, tucking his hands into his pockets. “That would explain the outright lack of respect.”

“I’m sure he means well.” Mingyu says. “He loves you a lot, even if he doesn’t always show it.”

“And how would you know that? Are you a dog whisperer now?”

“No, but I can sense these things. And you can always tell when pets have good owners because they look happy and healthy and excited to be around people.” 

“Uhuh, right. So, when he pees in my shoes and takes a shit on my bed, that’s just a sign of how much he loves me?”

Mingyu glances over at him, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Maybe he just has a weird way of expressing his affection.”

“It’d make my life _much_ easier if he’d show his affection in conventional dog ways.”

“Byeol’s special. He’s got _personality_.”

“Dogs are supposed to be easy-going, easy to please. I feel like I’ve been lied to my whole life, cheated out of the real truth.”

“They are!” Mingyu insists. “You just gotta… it goes both ways, y’know? Besides, he probably knows you’re really a cat person. No offence.” Mingyu flicks him a look beneath his lashes as if to check if he’s somehow offended Wonwoo.

“None taken,” Wonwoo says with a shrug. “I _am_ more of a cat person.”

Mingyu gasps dramatically, ducking down to press his palms to Byeol’s ears with an affronted, horrified expression.

“Don’t say it _in front of him_! God, and you wonder why he’s always out to get you.”

“So you agree he’s out to get me.”

“Yes. No! I don’t know! He’s not my dog.” Mingyu pets urgently between Byeol’s ears, like he’s worried Byeol is going to snap and take his long-awaited revenge on Wonwoo.

“Relax, he knows. He used to hear me say it all the time when we first got him.” 

Mingyu lets out a small, strangled, choking noise. “You said that in front of the baby?!” 

“Well, I mean –” Wonwoo fumbles, caught off-guard by the intensity in Mingyu’s heartbroken face. “Not intentionally, but Soojin was well aware I wasn’t exactly on board…”

“Oh my god.” Mingyu looks at Byeol, features pulling into a soft, consolatory frown. “Byeol, you poor thing. If I’d known, I would’ve rescued you from the Big Bad Cat Man sooner. Poor baby.” 

“It’s not like he hasn’t given me my fair share of hell for it,” Wonwoo argues weakly. 

“ _He’s a baby._ ” Mingyu draws Byeol in to his chest, cuddling him. Byeol wriggles, oblivious to the conversation going on overhead. 

“He’s a small demonic hellhound when he wants to be. Trust me, you haven’t seen what he can do to a pair of Nikes.”

Mingyu sniffs, indignant, and gives Byeol one last squeeze before letting go of him and straightening to his feet. They end up reaching the park with an awkward, uneasy silence hanging thick between them. Wonwoo takes a seat at his usual bench in the shade beneath some trees but Mingyu lingers a few feet away, hesitant. 

“Um, hyung.” Mingyu says, eyes flicking abruptly away when Wonwoo glances up at him. “I’m. I don’t mean to… I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. I just — I don’t know. I’m sure Byeol really cares about you and you care about him, too. And like, you kept him when a lot of other people would’ve just given him away to a shelter. Did you know approximately 70,000 dogs are sent to shelters in Seoul each year? And 15,000 of those could be one of the ones they put down. I just… when I think about all those dogs out there that were given up by their owners for reasons they can’t even help and it… It’s heartbreaking. They didn’t ask to be owned or bought or adopted. They just — they just love you, unconditionally no matter what, they’re just happy to see you and they ask for nothing in return and we still find so many ways to let them down.”

Mingyu swallows, eyes looking suspiciously watery as he blinks rapidly and coughs into his fist. 

“Sorry. I get really passionate about dogs — animals of any kind, really — and I never know how to shut up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mingyu.” Wonwoo says, softening at the sight of Mingyu staring fixedly down at his shoes. “You don’t have to be sorry. I volunteer at the Nabiya cat shelter sometimes, I know the statistics.”

“God, I must _really_ sound like an asshole.” Mingyu huffs out a sheepish, self-conscious laugh.

“You don’t. I get it. Byeol and I haven’t had the easiest relationship but I wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world.” 

“I’m — I’m glad to hear that.” The corners of Mingyu’s mouth lift into a tiny smile, but he’s still wavering by the park bench and has yet to take a seat.

“Hyung is it…” Mingyu starts, looking small and uncertain, a little abashed.

“What is it, Mingyu?” Wonwoo prompts.

“Is it gonna seem really rude if I go and play catch with Byeol ‘cause I don’t want to make you feel like you have to just because I’m here and it feels weird ‘cause you’re the one who’s actually his owner and I basically invited myself on his walk —”

Wonwoo interrupts him before he can spiral any further into fast-paced rambling. “It’s alright. Go play, I’ll be fine on my own.”

“ _You sure?_ ”

A crooked smile tugs at Wonwoo’s lips. “Go play, Mingyu.”

Mingyu very nearly jumps up and down on the spot, but he seems to catch himself at the last second and lets out an exuberant _let’s go!_ instead. Before he runs off with Byeol into the centre of the park, he turns to give Wonwoo one last look, the smile emblazoned on his face so big and bright and seemingly radiating its very own sunlight that Wonwoo catches himself forgetting to exhale.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 **wonwoo > > >  kim mingyu  
**hey mingyu

 

 **mingyu  
**hey hyung! what’s up?

 

 **wonwoo  
**i’m going to be working overtime over the next few nights and was wondering if you had time to check up on byeol and maybe feed and walk him?

 

 **mingyu**  
oh my god  
OH MY GOD!!!!!!! sdkfjdKfjdsKJgkj  
aslkdlgfg;d dkgg,d

 

 **wonwoo  
**???

 

 **mingyu**  
sorry im just excited like rEALLY REALLY EXCITED  
ITS FINALLY HAPPENING :DDDDDD

 

 **wonwoo  
**i take it that’s a yes?

 

 **mingyu**  
it would be my honor – neigh – my privilege, to take care of byeol for the next few days to the foreseeable future  
however long you will be in need of my services

 

 **wonwoo**  
it’s really just going to be over the weekend  
also can we talk about the fact that you think “nay” is the sound horses make

 

 **mingyu**  
of course it’s neigh why would you say nay you have to Neigh to show how much you mean it  
and that’s cool too!!!!  
it’ll be like mingyu and byeol’s buddy weekend  
oh my god its gonna be so lit  
THANK YOU FOR THIS HYUNG

 

 **wonwoo**  
that’s……… clearly a discussion for another time  
honestly /i/ should be the one thanking /you/

 

 **mingyu  
**no please, it really is my absolute pleasure

 

 **wonwoo  
**why do i feel like i’m taking advantage of you somehow

 

 **mingyu**  
ahhh don’t say that :((  
i love byeol i’d do anything for him  
and you ofc  
i mean i like you a normal amount and would do anything for you in the neighbour-friend and honoured dogsitter way  
haha

 

 **wonwoo  
**that just validates my point even more

 

 **mingyu**  
:(((((((((  
nooo

 

 **wonwoo**  
what do you want to eat?  
at least let me take you out to dinner or something to say thank you

 

 **mingyu**  
mMMM meat?  
and you don’t need to but i won’t say no to free meat

 

 **wonwoo  
**okay, it’s a date then

 

 **mingyu**  
i’m so excited to see byeol again  
thank you for this hyung honestly  
this totally made my whole week i’m so happy

 

 **wonwoo  
**you’re welcome?

 

 **mingyu  
**:DDDDD you’re the best hyung

 

 

\-----

 

 

After Mingyu and Byeol’s first inaugural Best Buddy Weekend, Wonwoo ends up relying a lot more on Mingyu’s services. Before when he’d stay late at the office, he’d call his dog-walker, a university student who lived a few blocks down to walk and feed Byeol. It’d always felt wrong somehow, to leave Byeol in the hands of a stranger, like Wonwoo was passing off his responsibility as guardian to someone he'd never met before and barely trusted.

With Mingyu, he never worries about if Byeol’s being fed enough, or if he’s getting the right ratio of wet to dry food, or if he had his walk at the right time of day.

No matter what time of day Wonwoo texts him, Mingyu seems happy – _elated_ – to rise to the call of duty. He’s asked to come over a few times even when Wonwoo’s home just to play with Byeol. Over the days and weeks, he’s dropped the ‘hanging out with Byeol’ excuse of a neighbour imposing on Wonwoo’s time and home. It’s crept up on Wonwoo without him even knowing it, this easy familiarity of having Mingyu around growing on him the way Byeol grew on him.

Mingyu is loud, everything about him is by nature, his personality, his voice, his smile, but he has an innate sense of when to be exactly what someone needs. For Wonwoo, that’s quiet, and even though he knows Mingyu to be loud and extroverted and vibrantly outgoing, he’s also watched him spend an afternoon doing nothing but playing on his phone and sitting with Byeol in his lap.

He learns other things about Mingyu, too. Like the fact that he’s a neat freak, and cleans as a hobby and a way of destressing.

He’s come home too many times to a spotless living room and kitchen to be able to do much about Mingyu’s tendency to clean his immediate surroundings at the slightest hint of a mess.

(Wonwoo still remembers the first time it happened: “What the _hell_ , Kim Mingyu? _Did you clean my_ house _?_ ”

“No? Yes? Sort of. Just a little. I swear I barely touched anything!” Mingyu had curled in on himself, frozen in the midst of his playing with Byeol on the carpet.

“Jesus Christ. You _did_ clean. I feel like I should be paying you by the hour.”

“That’s sweet, hyung, but you couldn’t afford me.”

And then the little shit had _winked_ at Wonwoo from where he was sprawled out on the floor, head propped up on his palm.) 

Mingyu works out twice a week, three when he’s not busy and has some free time on the weekend. He goes out for a morning run every other day. A routine that Wonwoo had managed to be blissfully unaware of until Mingyu knocked on his door one morning, waking him up from dead sleep and a failed attempt at catching up on a week’s worth of lost time. And there he was in a tiny singlet clinging to every inch and sweat-slick muscle of his extraordinarily well-defined chest. His arms, bare and out of their usual shirt-sleeves, looked like they’d been sculpted out of bronze. Wonwoo had woken up to South Korea’s very own Michelangelo standing on his doorstep.

He’d been too distracted trying not to choke on the unexpected dehydration slamming into him at full speed and robbing him of his capacity for higher motor function to get mad at Mingyu for waking him before noon on a weekend.

Mingyu has an Instagram page: @min9yu_k. He is thankfully _not_ one of those Instagram men who use their page solely as a thirst trap and an echo chamber of narcissism and vanity. He’s a worse breed of semi-Instagram famous. Kim Mingyu is a part-time Instagram Thottie (a real word, according to Jun, that means unrealistically beautiful person that knows it and works it). Amongst the casual selcas of friends and meals and new places, Mingyu is a six foot two supermodel with an impeccable fashion sense.

At least once a week, he posts a picture of himself flexing in designer wear (at least that’s what Jun tells him when Wonwoo’s had enough soju to open up Mingyu’s Instagram page without having an internal panic about how inappropriate it is to be thirsting over his neighbour and, more importantly, his _friend_ ) posing like he’s in an edgy style provocateur editorial.

Mingyu loves fashion, that much is obvious. He’s not outwardly flashy about the luxury items he wears but Wonwoo’s a professional observer of details like his penchant for wearing Gucci and his fondness of delicate, almost feminine necklaces. Wonwoo suspects he comes from money because of the way he talks about classical art and architectural design, and also because he assumes paramedics don’t make enough money to be dressing the way Mingyu does. 

Mingyu’s very fond of photography and documenting things, anything and everything. Byeol features on his Instagram page and stories every few days, but he insists on taking pictures with Wonwoo, too, always coercing and coaxing Wonwoo into agreement when Wonwoo’s less than enthusiastic about it. He always promises he won’t upload them (to protect Wonwoo’s anonymity in case there’s ever a need for him to take on an undercover assignment) but there’s an irrational, absurd part of Wonwoo that always wonders what it would be like if Mingyu did.

Mingyu posts pictures of his friends fairly frequently, and it’s always been a mix of women and men. In all the time Wonwoo’s known him, Mingyu hasn’t dated anyone or mentioned dating anyone. Surely, if Mingyu started dating someone, the first indication of it would be on his social media presence. 

Which, ultimately, is none of Wonwoo’s business anyway. It’s mere curiosity is all, is what he tells himself after opening up Mingyu’s latest Instagram update and trying and failing not to fixate on how good his hair looks, or how cute this particular expression he’s pulling is. It’s harmless. Wonwoo’s allowed to find Mingyu attractive when it’s the truth and anyone with eyes would agree he looks like a very large, very pretty Ken doll.   

It’s what he _does_ that makes it so much harder for Wonwoo and his attempt to go about his daily life without thinking of Kim Mingyu at minimum once a day. 

It’s Mingyu texting him cute, inane things throughout the day.

It’s Mingyu sending Byeol selcas and demanding Wonwoo text back with “selcas from Byeol so I know he saw my face and is thinking about me, too”.

It’s Mingyu getting annoyed with him when he asks if Wonwoo’s eaten yet and Wonwoo genuinely doesn’t have an answer. 

(“How have you survived twenty-seven years of life without learning how to feed yourself properly, huh?” Mingyu demands, barging past Wonwoo clutching a ludicrous amount of shopping bags in his arms. “You manage to feed Byeol just fine, I don’t see why you can’t do it for yourself, too!” 

“I lost track of time,” Wonwoo sighs, resigned to the hurricane of noise and distraction Mingyu’s brought with him. “It happens sometimes, I get busy with work and just… forget.”

Mingyu’s head snaps up, his brow furrowed, exasperation shining in his big, dark eyes. “You’re so _stupid_ for someone who’s supposed to be so smart, Wonwoo-hyung.”

“Hey! Watch it.” Wonwoo says, voice dipping into warning.

“I’m serious,” Mingyu snipes back, dumping the groceries on the kitchen table. “You need to take better care of yourself, hyung. You’re too old to be doing this to yourself.”

“I’m only three years older than you, you brat.”

“You have the real-life experience of an especially useless toddler. I swear, it’s like you’re the one that needs babysitting and constant supervision, not Byeol.” Mingyu begins unpacking the bags, multitasking as he ruthlessly and cuttingly accurate character analysis of Wonwoo.

“What would you do if I wasn’t around to remind you to eat your meals on time?”

“Waste away, probably.” Wonwoo says in an apathetic tone that’s mean to provoke, picking at a piece of flint on his sweater.

Mingyu lets out a frustrated noise, stomping over to the cupboards to take out the rice cooker he’d made Wonwoo buy a month ago because “You’re a grown Korean adult man that doesn’t own a _rice cooker_? Dishonour on your whole family and cow, Jeon Wonwoo”.

“ _God_ , you’re hopeless.”

“Don’t think I won’t kick you out if you don’t stop insulting me and my life skills.”

“Your threats are as empty as your fridge,” Mingyu hisses. 

“Maybe.” Wonwoo says, moving around Mingyu as he stomps over to the sink to wash some vegetables. “Give me something useful to do, I can help.” 

“You can peel and chop onions. That’s literally the only thing I trust you to do.”

“The bar for your expectations is literally on the ground, isn’t it?”

“It’s subterranean at this point. And don’t cut yourself, I’ve seen your first aid kit and there’s like half a Band-Aid in there and some disinfectant from the 90’s.”

“Yes, chef.”)

Wonwoo doesn’t know how or when it happened but somewhere along the way Kim Mingyu has become a permanent thing in his life. A constant. Someone whose texts he checks first thing in the morning, someone who he can spend hours with and never tire of.

It’s a Thursday night and the leaves have already started changing, signalling the beginning of Autumn, Wonwoo’s favourite season. Mingyu is curled up on the sofa watching TV with Byeol beside him, and he greets Wonwoo warmly with a smile when he sees him.

“Byeol and I are watching nature documentaries. He agrees with me that in a fight between a shark and a lion, the shark would definitely will.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo says, tugging at his tie to loosen it from its grip around his throat. “On what basis?”

“On the basis that sharks are awesome and have you _seen_ their teeth? They have at least forty times more teeth than lions.”

“That sounds somehow very inaccurate.”

“Not after you watch this Netflix documentary it won’t.” Mingyu pats expectantly at the couch beside him. “C’mon, we saved a seat just for you. Best seat in the house.”

“I wish I could, really. But I’ve got some paperwork I’ve got to catch up on.” 

Mingyu lets out a soft whine of a sound, his eyes widening and his eyebrows drawing together suspiciously close together and – _no_. Oh, no.

Wonwoo knows what this is. He’s been lured into this trap many a time by Byeol, like a naïve, guileless lamb, _an absolute fool_ , to be tricked by an attempt so transparent. The game’s up before it even began.

“Don’t you _dare_.”

Mingyu whines again, a higher, quieter noise this time that seems to emanate from somewhere near his throat.

“This isn’t going to work. I _know_ what you’re doing.”

Mingyu, if anything, only pouts harder. Byeol makes a snuffling sound and peers up at Wonwoo, too, despite knowing nothing of the context.

“What, are the two of you telepathic now? I don’t know who’s worse. But _you_ should certainly know better.”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Mingyu mumbles plaintively, eyes big and wide, and _god_ he’s such a big baby, pulling this kind of ruse at twenty-four years old and towering at over six foot tall. He’s so very, very annoying.

Wonwoo thinks he might just adore this man.

“You are ridiculous.”

“But convincing?”

“Absolutely not.” Wonwoo replies, already making a beeline for the couch, and the big oversized puppy sitting on it with Byeol beside him.

“Liar.” Mingyu says, low and soft, delight twinkling his eyes. 

“Me? _Never._ ” Wonwoo draws near the edge of the couch, less than a foot away from where Mingyu’s thighs are bent at the edge of the couch so they can tuck comfortably beneath him. “Don’t you know I’m a very accomplished detective? I never lie.” 

“Oh, so only to yourself then,” Mingyu teases.

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums, slipping down into the space Mingyu’s made for him amidst the blankets and pillows and his own body heat. He curls himself up, an arm folding around his bent knees. “You really thought you made a point there, huh?”

“I don’t have to be a detective to be observant,” Mingyu says, smile playing at his lips, he shifts instinctually, arm stretching languorously across the top of the couch. Having Mingyu around is like having a personal year-round space heater, Wonwoo finds himself curling unconsciously closer, just to be a little nearer to his warmth.

“I’m smart too when it counts.” 

Wonwoo huffs, a soft laughing sound. “I can see that. You got me exactly where you wanted, after all.”

Mingyu looks like he’s about to say something when Byeol wriggles, getting impatient at the extended amount of time without personal attention. He crawls firmly into Mingyu’s lap and Mingyu responds immediately by petting his head. There’s a strand of Byeol’s fluff clinging to his cheek. Wonwoo reaches out before he’s even fully cognisant of what he’s doing, fingertips grazing Mingyu’s cheekbone as he gently brushes the fur from Mingyu’s skin.

Mingyu freezes the moment Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with his cheek, hand pausing mid-pet in the air, gaze locking on Wonwoo’s with a trepidation so palpable Wonwoo can feel him tensing underneath his touch. 

The flicker of emotions that darts through his eyes shifts and changes so quickly, like a vintage film projector cascading through a dozen grainy vignettes, fear and distress and anticipation, but the contentment, the _longing_ , the strange, soft want that settles helplessly across his the surface of his expression speaks loudest of all. Wonwoo doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare _speak_ , just slowly draws his hand back, his pulse falling back to the baseline of safe ground again.

He doesn’t want to think about what the look in Mingyu’s eyes means. He doesn’t want to hear what deductive logic has to tell him about the dilating of Mingyu’s pupils and his reaction to closeness and touch and small intimacies.

“I was kidding about the documentary, by the way.” Mingyu says, tentative and quiet. “You can go finish your work if you want. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not. It’s just paperwork, I can multitask.” 

Mingyu beams at him, eyes crinkling soft and sure as he settles back down to watch his shark documentary. Wonwoo doesn’t want to think about what it means that the softness of Mingyu’s smile makes his heart ache. 

Without realising it, Mingyu has made himself – his place in Wonwoo’s life, his home, his very existence – entirely his own, and Wonwoo’s let him.

Mingyu drifts off as Netflix autoplays the next documentary, a BBC Earth episode about whales, and Byeol tucked against him is already sound asleep. Wonwoo gets out a blanket, and tucks it gently around them, refusing to think about the urge in his bones that wants to stay. The tug in his chest that wants to know what it’d be like for Mingyu to stay.  

It’s irrational.  _Everything_ about this is irrational and beyond reason. 

The living room fills with the sound of the sea like a pulse, steady and resounding and bigger than anything the human mind can grasp. The whalesong echoing deep from somewhere in the heart of the ocean sounds like an endless, vast longing.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“So. This is The Mingyu.”

“He’s much larger than expected. An absolute unit, one might say.”

From where he’s still standing at his own doorframe, Wonwoo squints into the distance and debates closing the door behind him and walking out into the cold in nothing but his sleep robe and pyjamas.

“How tall do you think he is? Six-foot-three?” 

“Hard to tell with him lying down like this. I didn’t even know they grew this big in the wild.”

“Maybe he’s like the Korean Bigfoot. Or Mothman. I mean, you never know, considering we haven’t gotten a good look at him yet.”

Wonwoo sighs, pinching at his brow in a futile attempt to stave off his impending migraine. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

Soonyoung and Jihoon trade glances, shrugging and turning their attention back to Mingyu who’s lying sprawled, asleep, on Wonwoo’s couch.

“We _were_ going to go watch a movie and then get lunch,” Soonyoung begins to explain. “But then I was like, hey you know what would be even _more_ fun? If Wonwoo came, too, and we knew you wouldn’t pick up if we tried to call, so we wanted to see what you were up to.”

“…You came all this way to invite me to be the glorified third wheel on your date?” Wonwoo drawls, incredulous.

“It’s not a date.” Jihoon says, defensive. “It’s just a hangout between friends. Hence why we were going to ask you to join.”

“But,” Soonyoung adds, eyes narrowing with sly insinuation. “We can see that you’re clearly… occupied.” 

“No.” Wonwoo says. “ _No._ You two are not turning your weird dysfunctional relationship cat-and-mouse games around on _me_. I’ve had enough of this Hot-And-Cold War bullshit.”

Soonyoung lets out a light, nervous laugh; Jihoon’s expression doesn’t change at all, he stares at Wonwoo, unblinking, one brow slightly arched in equal parts bemusement and challenge.

“Anyway, that’s fine,” Soonyoung says hurriedly, reaching to wind her arm through Jihoon’s even as Jihoon steps away and out of his reach. “You’re busy, so, we’ll come back another time! Keep us up to date with Bigfoot over there.”

“What Bigfoot? _Where?_ ”

Oh. Mingyu’s awake. He’s sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking adorably soft and sleep-worn with his fingers poking out of his sweater sleeves and his hair mussed from the couch cushions. 

“Hey, Mingyu. Morning.” Wonwoo turns to Soonyoung and Jihoon, widening his eyes in belated warning and mouths a _don’t say anything weird_ at them. “These are my… friends Jihoon and Soonyoung.”

“Hi.” Mingyu says, smile warming on his face as he curls in on himself rendering him even softer and tinier. “Um, nice to meet you. I’m Mingyu.”

“Oh, _we know_.” Soonyoung says brightly, impish smirk unfurling as if on cue. “We’ve heard lots about you.”

“Hopefully only good things.”

“Good, only a little bad and everything else in between, but that’s just because Wonwoo here never shuts up about y — ”

“They were just on their way out actually,” Wonwoo cuts him off smoothly. “They have a _date_ to go on.”

“Nice,” Mingyu says. “How long have you guys been together?”

“We’re not — ” Soonyoung stutters, strangled, at the exact moment Jihoon says, “Two months.”

An awkward, strained silence falls across the room, and Wonwoo has to cough to hide his smirk behind his hand.

“Ah..” Mingyu says, attempting to salvage the conversation. “So you’re still like _somes_.”

“Something like that.” Wonwoo replies, deciding to show mercy for his two best friends and spare them the trouble of a long-winded, nonsensical explanation. The story of Soonyoung and Jihoon is one that would take hours – and at least five drinks – to tell.

“But this is cute,” Soonyoung nods at Mingyu’s blankets strewn on the couch and the pillows tucked strategically around him for maximum comfort. “I didn’t know you were having _grown-up sleepover parties_ , Wonwoo.”

Mingyu flushes, the tips of his ears going bright red. “Um, it’s – it’s nothing like that. I just look after Byeol sometimes. We were watching a movie and it got late and I was too lazy to walk up to my apartment, so...”  

“You’re a little too handsome to be spending the night at a neighbour’s house, don’t you think, Mingyu-ssi? No significant other waiting for you back at home?”

“ _Soonyoung._ ” Wonwoo grits out from the vice-grip of his jaw and politely clenched teeth. 

“N – no.” Mingyu mumbles, ducking his head and looking abashed. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.” 

“Soonyoung.” Jihoon arches his brows at Soonyoung, and Soonyoung gives a small shake of his head, still smiling that impish smile of his. 

“ _Just_ making sure. Never hurts to be certain and our Wonwoo here might be the city’s best detective but he can be a little oblivious when it comes to matters of the heart.” 

“Kwon Soonyoung, I swear to god —” 

“It’s cool, I get it.” Mingyu fiddles with the edges of his sleeves, a small, hesitant smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. “I don’t, uh… have any ulterior motives or anything when it comes to hyung. We’re really just friends. I dogsit for him sometimes when he’s running late from work but that’s it. So, you don’t have to worry.” 

Soonyoun purses his lips, feline eyes watching Mingyu with an expression that no one but him knows the meaning of him. 

“Here’s an idea,” Jihoon says. “Since you’re here, Mingyu-ssi. Why don’t we all go out for lunch together?”

“The four of us?” Wonwoo echoes. “Really, Jihoon?”

“Sure, I mean, why not?” Jihoon levels his gaze on Wonwoo, and there’s that daring again, this time tempered by a counterfeit lightness. “We’re already here, and it’ll be fun getting to know the infamous Kim Mingyu.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, considering it for a beat before nodding eagerly, beaming up at them.

“Well, I’m in!”

Mingyu excuses himself to go freshen up and change into a new pair of clothes and the moment he leaves the room Jihoon and Soonyoung’s heads swivel towards Wonwoo in eerie synchronisation.

“ _So._ Sleepovers, huh?”

“Don’t you start, Soonyoung. We haven’t even talked about how you two ended up here in my house. And what’s with this two month anniversary thing all of a sudden?”

Jihoon exhales, folding his arms across his chest as he glances at Soonyoung. “That’s an excellent question, actually.”

Soonyoung opens his mouth, and then closes it again with a click of his teeth. There’s wheels turning behind his eyes, sharp and quick and never caught off-guard but this is a Soonyoung Wonwoo’s never seen so thrown by a simple remark.

Whatever is going on between these two, he’s missing leads and pieces of vital information.

A sharp beeping sound erupts from the pile of blankets on the couch, and Mingyu barges out of the bathroom, shirtless. The three of them watch in various states of shock and amazement as he digs through the pillows until he unearths a pager and waves it apologetically in the air. 

“That’s the firehouse. I’m sorry, hyungs! I’ve gotta’ run but maybe next time? It was a pleasure meeting you, Soonyoung-ssi. Jihoon-ssi.” 

Mingyu bows at them both, impeccable manners _and_ his bare, disturbingly muscular chest on full-frontal display. And then he’s tearing out the door, tugging on his shirt and shoes at the door and hurrying out into the cold.

“Well.” Jihoon says, after a solid ten seconds of stunned silence from all of them. “He’s… certainly something.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen a real-life twelve-pack on someone that _isn’t_ an anime character,” says Soonyoung.

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

Byeol is being unusually fussy on his morning walk, erupting in a small outburst when Wonwoo had taken a little too long to leave the house, tugging at his leash and barking at the slightest hint of Wonwoo trying to calm him. 

It’s one of those heavy, hollow, grey-tinted days. Wonwoo wakes up feeling cold, and he’s always cold but usually he can drag himself from the inescapable dread of awake, of having to slip into some semblance of a person, before it settles into his bones like black ice. Usually he can keep it from swallowing him whole with a few extra layers, a couple more emergency heat packs jammed between his clothes.

But black ice is so transparent it's nearly invisible; it doesn't seem dangerous until you’re reeling across its surface, bracing for impact.

Byeol is in a bad mood, and Wonwoo has this unshakeable feeling that today is going to be a Bad Day. He’s determined not to let it, but sheer resolve has never stood much of a chance.

Wonwoo doesn’t know if it’s the lack of attention he’s been giving Byeol lately, or Wonwoo refusing to let him sneak pieces of food off his plate but he’s been unruly to the point of outright disobedience. He hasn’t been this bad since the first few months Soojin left for New York, when every day Wonwoo would find a fresh new horror awaiting him. A time when chewed up, battered shoes were the least of his worries.

The unexpected chill swirling through the air bites at him, leaving teeth marks on pale skin. Wonwoo pulls his coat tighter around him, squinting to see through the hazy condensation fogging up his glasses from his breath.

Byeol snaps at absolutely nothing again, jerking hard on his leash and startling Wonwoo from his thoughts. He muffles his sigh, tightening his grip on the small bag of groceries he’d risked nearly life and limb to get after a four-minute stand-off with Byeol involving various attempts at coercion, bribery, and outright threats to leave him here when he refused to be tied up outside the store. Wonwoo had proceeded to race through the quickest shopping trip of his life, half-expecting Byeol to have chewed through his leash by the time he got back.

Thankfully, he finds the leash, and Byeol, in one piece. Byeol is sitting on the curb with a hard scowl on his small face. 

“I know, _I know_ , I’m sorry.” Wonwoo murmurs, hurrying to untie him and get a hold of the leash again. “I’m done so we can go home now, okay? I’m sorry.”

Byeol yanks in his grip the moment he’s freed from being tied up, charging ahead and sending Wonwoo tripping over thin air. He falters, struggling to regain his balance as he stumbles after Byeol who’s already pulling fast ahead.

“Byeol.” Wonwoo grits out. “ _Byeol_ , stop.” 

Byeol ignores him, the retriever and husky in him sending him powering forwards on his small legs despite the desperation tightening in Wonwoo’s voice.

“ _Byeol!_ ”

Byeol is tugging so hard on his leash it feels like the muscles in his arm are straining not to split from the bone but Wonwoo can’t let go, _he can’t_ because if something bad happens to Byeol, _that’s on him_ , if Byeol runs into traffic, or runs away full stop, or runs right under a car, _what the fuck is he supposed to do then_. His breaths are coming harsh and fast, rattling through his ribcage like distant thunder that’s growing steadily closer, the tension in the air charged with something terrible and thick and suffocating. 

“ _Byeol._ ”

It sounds like his voice is cracking apart, splintering into an echo and an answer resounding in the heavy, empty calm before the storm.

Byeol lurches forwards, erupting into barking and snapping, and as he heaves, his leash comes flying out of Wonwoo’s grip. Wonwoo feels the sudden lightness against his palm, cold and red-raw, and then the momentum slams into him, the bag gripped in his other hand slipping from his fingers as he trips.

The crack of eggs smashing against concrete, a carton of milk exploding on contact, and the rest of the bag splattering along the sidewalk fades amidst the high ringing in his ears.

And suddenly the slightest movement or sound or _breath_ is going to set him alight, white-hot, an exposed wire awaiting the lightning bolt that’ll come streaking down from the sky. It’s cold, _it’s so, so cold_ , he’s so numb from it all that he doesn’t notice someone crouching down to shush Byeol, running his fingers through Byeol’s fur, calming him, doesn’t notice someone taking Byeol’s leash and piling the salvageable groceries from the floor back into the remnants of the plastic bag and tying it up in a makeshift knapsack. Doesn’t notice the face swimming into view in front of him until he speaks, his voice breaking open the static drowning everything out.

“ _Hyung._ ”

The touch of his fingers against Wonwoo’s palm is almost too hot to bear, the shock of heat after too long exposure to the numbness of feeling nothing rippling through him sharp and hard.

“ _Hey_ , it’s gonna be okay. _I’ve got you._ I’ve got you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t realise he’s shaking until Mingyu presses the tips of their fingers together and it burns, _sears_ , like being too close to an open flame when you’re slicked in gasoline.

Wonwoo clutches at the sound of Mingyu’s voice, low and steady and so solid, the only real thing he’s sure of in the surge of fear and shuddering anxiousness, the embarrassment and shame of being seen like this in broad daylight, the raw, involuntary exposure of him at his worst. His chest feels like a shipwreck filling fast with water, his chin barely above the surface and the rest of him submerged in ice-cold numbness. 

“Right here, do you feel this?”

There’s the imprint of a hand splaying against his chest through the layers of sweater and shirt and thermal and cold _cold cold_. Right over his heartbeat. Pressed beside the faraway sound of his pulse thumping in his veins.

“Breathe. Just breathe. In for seven seconds and out, hyung.” 

Mingyu counts him down as he struggles through the tight, strangling sensation in his chest and his head and the dry terror awaiting on the horizon. The humiliation of falling apart, collapsing inside of himself like this on the pavement where anyone could see, where _Mingyu can see_. Has already seen.

“Just like that, hyung.” Mingyu says. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The thought does occur to Wonwoo that if Mingyu weren’t here right now, handling Byeol and getting him through this, things could’ve been much, much worse. But all he can think, the only thing racing through his mind right now, is _I don’t want you to see me like this_. Not you.

Mingyu is peering at him with these big, shiny eyes, and it’s like the whole universe is reflected in them, wide and endless and not remotely helping with his attempts to keep Wonwoo’s breathing even. 

“Is it – is it okay if I touch you, hyung?”

Wonwoo jerks his head down in a nod, afraid to trust his voice, even more fearful of trusting his own instincts right now when his own brain chemistry has betrayed him like this.

Mingyu’s hand settles on the small of his back, smoothing gently down to the base of his spine and back up again. He does it again after a few moments, the repetitive motion soothing the tremors still threatening to wrack through Wonwoo’s frame. And it must be the combination of Mingyu’s voice, the soft stroking of his hand along Wonwoo’s back, and the feeling of safeness and reassurance that Mingyu radiates at all times, but it takes a shorter amount of time than usual for Wonwoo’s breathing to steady, and the worst of the panic to subside.

“Let’s go home.” Mingyu says, and it sounds like the warmth of first sunlight melting through a winter day.

 

 

\-----

 

 

In life, there are some people who were simply _born_ for their line of work, the ones who rise to the call of duty like a higher calling.

Wonwoo sees now why Mingyu became a paramedic.

It’s everything he’s good at writ large on the professional scale – taking care of people, remaining calm and steady in an emergency, staying in control in the eye of the storm and the chaos. 

He gets Wonwoo inside his apartment, his groceries put away, and Byeol quieted for the moment, with an efficiency that’s deceptively effortless. He pours Wonwoo a glass of water, finds him some medication for his migraine, and has him set up on the couch in a pile of blankets while he briefly, but reluctantly, explains that he thinks he should take Byeol to see the vet because he’s been “acting strangely” and there’s some “odd symptoms” that he’s been noticing, which according to his Naver search, might be cause for concern.

Wonwoo wants nothing more than to curl up into a pile vaguely resembling limbs and take a nap anyway but Mingyu hovers for a full five minutes fussing over Wonwoo’s blankets and does he have enough pillows or water and medication? There’s guilt pulling at his features, creasing his mouth with a frown and if Wonwoo weren’t so exhausted and his head didn’t feel like hell, he’d reach out and shake Mingyu for it.

“I’ll be fine. Byeol’s the priority right now.” 

Mingyu opens his mouth and looks like he’s about to argue when Wonwoo cuts him off with the only thing he knows that’ll make him go:

“I trust you, Gyu. I trust you with him, to take care of him.”

And Mingyu deflates just like that, the fight gone out of him as he trudges over to the door and picks up Byeol’s carrier. 

“Promise to text or call if you need anything, okay?” Mingyu says, an undercurrent of urgency to his voice that spikes something sharp and warm in Wonwoo’s chest. “ _Promise_.”

“Promise, Gyu. _Go._ ”

Mingyu gives him one last, apprehensive look, eyebrows drawn together like he’s at fault for leaving Wonwoo alone, and then steps out the door. 

Wonwoo drifts off not long afterwards in the nest of blankets and pillows Mingyu built for him.

When he wakes, it takes a few moments for him to reorient himself. The side effects of this particular brand of medication are usually manageable – drowsiness, dizziness, nausea, a little tightness or discomfort in the chest or throat – and it’s more than a fair price to pay for being migraine-free. It does, however, leave him feeling heavy and clumsy, like he’s moving at half-speed.  

Mingyu is sitting on the ground next to the couch, typing away on his laptop. He turns when he senses Wonwoo moving, and a small smile breaks out onto his face.

“Hey, sleepy.”

“Hey,” Wonwoo murmurs, rubbing at his eyes.

“You look a little better than before. Are you feeling okay?”

“Mm. Napping is the answer to everything.” 

Mingyu chuckles, his canines showing as he laughs. “Spoken like a true old man.”

“How did the vet go?”

“It turns out Byeol has a toothache. The vet gave us some pain relief pills for him but we’ve got to take him back for another exam. He was very good and he did so well with the vet. I’m gonna have to buy him so many toys.” 

Wonwoo snorts lightly. “No, you won’t. You’ve spoiled him enough.” 

“He deserves to be spoiled.” Mingyu says, fond gaze shifting to where Byeol’s sleeping beside him underneath the coffee table. “He’s a good boy. The _best_ boy.” 

 _No_ , Wonwoo thinks, _you are_. In his dazed, heavily medicated state, the thought makes complete and utter sense to him. And Mingyu deserves to hear it.

“You’re… _you’re so good_.” Wonwoo murmurs, and his head is fuzzy and thick and impossible to think through, as if someone’s taken out every vital part of his brain that he needs to think and has replaced it with yards of wool, _but he knows this much:_ Kim Mingyu is good. So infinitely good. “To me. To Byeol.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything, but there’s a faint dusting of pink settling across his cheeks that makes his tanned skin glow like the horizon of a tiny sunset.

“Why are you… why’re you doing all this?”

Wonwoo needs to… he needs to _understand_. The why. The motive. Everyone has a motive, but Kim Mingyu has been so deceptively easy to read this entire time that Wonwoo thinks he must have overlooked this particular detail. 

“Because we’re friends. That’s what friends do for each other.” Mingyu replies softly, fiddling with his hands in his lap. He’s always moving, Wonwoo’s noticed that, too. Can’t seem to sit still. Wonwoo usually hates that in people.

With Mingyu, he finds it endlessly endearing. All of his quirks are endearing, even the annoying ones.

“Friends don’t…” Wonwoo begins, and doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. There are so many things he could fill in the blanks with. Friends don’t _look at each other like we do_. They don’t do groceries for each other when they’re out running errands (because Mingyu knows if it were up to Wonwoo there’d be nothing at all in his fridge and he’s always forgetting to feed himself), they don’t do each other’s household chores (because it’s more efficient to do laundry for two people than just the one), they don’t cook together and eat together every other night of the week because Mingyu knows his favourite food and that he hates fish but loves Mingyu’s dak-galbi.

Friends aren’t supposed to take care of me the way you do, the way you look at me like you’d do anything if I asked you to. 

“Sometimes, I think you want us to be more than that.”

Mingyu swallows, gaze fixed on his lap, his hands. Anywhere but Wonwoo. “What’s… what’s that supposed to mean, hyung?”

Wonwoo rolls his head back to face the ceiling, tracing the shapes of the overhead light and the way they dance and blur slightly with his near-sighted vision. “We spend so much time together. More than I do with any of my other friends. Probably because we live in the same building, but still.” 

“I…” Mingyu clears his throat quietly, face tightening as his eyes flicker to the ground. “Sorry. That’s… um. I’m always bothering you, aren’t I? I can come around less if it’s annoying.” 

“No.” Wonwoo says abruptly, and Mingyu flinches slightly, just barely, from where Wonwoo can see him in the corner of his eye. “No, don’t do that. I like it when you’re around.”

“I like — I like being with you, too, hyung.” Mingyu echoes, slow and careful.

“You should have a boyfriend.” Wonwoo says all of a sudden. He punctuates the statement with a decisive nod at the air. “Or a girlfriend.”

Someone as good and kind and handsome as Kim Mingyu should have a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or significant other. Someone who’ll love him the way he deserves to be loved. Someone who’ll take care of him when he’s too busy taking care of everyone else.

“There must be a lot of people who would die to have a boyfriend who’s tall and handsome and good at everything.”

Mingyu has shifted so that he has both his arms wrapped around his legs, his chin propped up on his crossed arms. He looks so small, despite his six-foot-one-and-counting height and very considerable muscle mass. He wiggles his socked feet back and forth, brow furrowing and then unfurrowing as he attempts to smooth out his expression into something nonchalant, indifferent.

It doesn’t suit him, Wonwoo decides. He likes Mingyu’s face better when it’s bright and open and warm. Like staring into the sun without the fear of being burned.

“I guess… not everyone does.” Mingyu murmurs slowly, as if he’s choosing his words carefully.

Wonwoo frowns. Who are these not everyone people? _Who are they?_ Listen, he just wants to talk, he’d like to — he has some _words_ for these people.

“But it’s fine.” Mingyu says, smile wrapping around his mouth sweetly like brightly coloured cellophane; Wonwoo sees right through it. “I don’t… mind not dating anyone right now. It’s nice having the time to focus on myself. And my friends.”

“But you should have someone like that.” Wonwoo insists. “Someone to take care of you when you’re too busy taking care of everyone else.” 

Mingyu sinks deeper into his arms, shoulders curling higher around his ears. He mutters something under his breath that Wonwoo can’t quite make out. 

“I can take care of myself. I just. I like taking care of other people. Makes me feel useful. Gives them a reason to want me around.”

Wonwoo flies up to a sitting position, and the world spins and sways around him like a kaleidoscope changing slides in a brief, heady blur of colour and light before slowing to a stop as he blinks rapidly, grasping blindly at solid reality.

“That’s _not_ why people like having you around, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s hand shoots out to steady him, a look of alarm on his face. “Hyung, are you okay?!” He cries out, voice high and urgent. “What’d you sit up so fast for? You should be lying down, resting, you’re gonna give yourself —” 

Wonwoo turns, taking Mingyu’s face into his hands and stunning him into silence before he can ramble any further about something as insignificant as Wonwoo’s current state of health when there are oversights he needs to set right. Mingyu is warm beneath his palms, so warm. His eyes shutter rapidly and then widen, transfixed in this expression of bewilderment, and disbelief, and _fear_. Wonwoo strokes the tips of his fingers across the arch of Mingyu’s cheeks, just beneath his eyes, trying to soothe away the terror flickering through his gaze. 

It must work, because Mingyu softens a little, shoulders sagging like he’s lost the energy to keep them hunched around himself.

Wonwoo has — _things_ he wants to say, things Mingyu needs to hear. But he can’t help himself, he lingers in the quiet for a few moments simply gazing at Mingyu. Drinking him in like the first rays of sunlight peeking through an overcast sky. He’s so beautiful it’s easy to overlook the kindness that curves with the crinkling of his eyes, the sincerity that lights every part of his face when he smiles, the warmth he radiates just by _being_.

Mingyu looks afraid to breathe, afraid to brush too closely against Wonwoo’s skin. Each flicker of emotion is betrayed on his face: panic and alarm, but wonder, too. Fondness. _Awe._ He might be afraid, but his body _feels_. It reacts, fearless of the consequences.

“You’re more than just useful, Kim Mingyu.” Wonwoo breathes, voice low and hushed like a confession. “You’re generous. Sweet. _Compassionate._ You care so much, you’re so —”

 _Radiant._ Kim Mingyu glows, the light he gives off, the infectious joy and softness he brings to everything he does. The smallest pleasures he finds in the simplest of things, in the way he finds satisfaction in doing things for other people, in how he gives all of himself and never asks for anything in return. His heart is so big and infinitely giving, so sensitive and generous and full of selfless kindness. And when he smiles, _god_ , when he smiles he’s incandescent.

“You’re so _warm_.” 

His thumbs are tracing across Mingyu’s cheekbones, his body tipping forwards into Mingyu’s space like all the gravity has been spooled loose from him. 

He can feel Mingyu’s hands moving warm against his back, smoothing up along his spine to the small of his back, his neck. A touch alights on his hair, so careful Wonwoo swears he’s imagining it. 

“You’re so _warm_. Real.”

And then: a soft brush of fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head, gentle, with a tenderness that makes Wonwoo’s heart ache.

And then. Mingyu’s face, so close that every emotion flickering across his face almost hurts with its intensity, so beautifully heartbreaking.

“I don’t deserve someone like you.”

There’s a longing swelling in his ribs in a crescendo that’s been a long time coming, at first a hum of static and then a persistent leitmotif and now a symphony, a ripcurl of want surging to meet the shoreline of his breath.

“Yes, you do, hyung.” Mingyu says, steady as a heartbeat. Not Wonwoo’s, but _god_ , it could be.

Wonwoo breathes deep, his whole body shuddering with an ache to be held, to be touched, and Mingyu’s holding him, touching him with a softness that he isn’t worthy of, but it isn’t the same.

It isn’t the same because he wants — he wants to be more than this.

He wants to be someone who deserves Kim Mingyu and all of his good. All of his big, beautiful heart. But he isn’t. That’s the unequivocal truth. Wonwoo isn’t the kind of person who can give Mingyu the happiness he deserves. He’s barely a person, especially on days like this, and more like an improvised sketch of one. The bare outlines of a blueprint for a human being with no dimension, no colour or depth or anything inside.

“You’re a good friend, Mingyu.”

Wonwoo isn’t a good person, and that’s why he says it. Because he knows Mingyu down to the very last detail, and the look on his face when Wonwoo says it is exactly what he anticipated would happen. 

This is the trouble with being as open and easy to read as Mingyu is – he has no self-defence mechanisms. He doesn’t have the ingrained instinct to shield himself against potential hurt and danger. (One day, when Wonwoo has stopped having the power to hurt him, maybe he’ll teach him how.) 

Sharp-edged desperation flickers across Mingyu’s face, blunting itself bittersweet and then restraining itself into careful, _painstaking_ detachment. It’s fast, almost too fast to catch but Wonwoo knows Mingyu. He knows him.

“Thank you, hyung. That means a lot.” 

And then Mingyu does the worst thing possible: he smiles. It’s brittle, dull with false brightness, but he’s trying so valiantly to mean it.

Wonwoo feels it like a flinch that threatens to tear right through his heart.

 

 

 


	2. you're my sunshine in the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How does he do that?_ How does he open himself up like that, bleeding and raw and vulnerable and not be terrified that Wonwoo will hurt him because of it?
> 
> It’s breathtaking, how openly Mingyu loves. How much Wonwoo loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from daniel caesar's best part ft. H.E.R. the fic ost.

 

“Hyung,” Mingyu says, sounding a little breathless, the tips of his ears and cheeks tinged high with pink. “This is. Really — _hard_.”

“Hm?”

“I — ” Mingyu chokes, fingers curling and uncurling by his sides. “ _Oh my god._ ”

Wonwoo cocks his head, lifting his eyes to see Mingyu staring at him wide-eyed, a look of agony and adoration on his face. The kitten in Wonwoo’s arms gives a little meow and noses deeper into the inside of his arm. Her brother is sitting in front of Mingyu, Mingyu with his impossibly long legs bent in a diamond shape around the kitten’s tiny form. 

Mingyu makes a wounded noise, dragging a hand down his face. “Not to be dramatic but how am I supposed to go on with my life knowing that baby cats are this cute and tiny?”

“You mean kittens?” Wonwoo chuckles, stroking a finger over his kitten’s forehead. “And don’t let Byeol hear you say that, he’ll be heartbroken.”

Mingyu looks a little afraid to touch his one, as if he’s too big to be holding something so small and fragile.

“It’s okay, Mingyu, you can pick up Haku if you want to. Just be gentle.” 

They’re at Nabiya Cat Shelter where Wonwoo volunteers every other week when he has time to spare on the weekends. Miya, one of the older cats that’s been at Nabiya for a while now had kittens a month ago. Two of the litter have already been adopted and the other four will most likely be given to new homes soon, too. It’s selfish of him to hope it won’t be too soon but Miya seems happy being surrounded by her babies and Wonwoo’s always had a soft spot for the older cats who’ve made Nabiya their home. 

“He’s just so… _tiny_. I don’t want to accidentally hurt him or anything.” 

Wonwoo’s fairly sure that Mingyu cancelled whatever plans he had for this afternoon the moment Wonwoo told him he was going to a cat shelter to play with kittens.

Haku mewls, padding tentatively closer to Mingyu. Mingyu gazes down at the very small creature like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Wonwoo swallows, glancing away and focusing on his own lapful of kittens so as not to feel his entire body attempt to dissolve out of sheer softness.

Mingyu reaches out very, very slowly, letting Haku sniff at his hand just as Wonwoo had shown him earlier. Haku blinks his little amber eyes and bends his head slightly to allow Mingyu to pet him. Mingyu, holding his breath, brushes the back of his finger over Haku’s head. Haku meows, leaning forwards to nuzzle into Mingyu’s hand. 

“Oh my god, I think I’m in _love_ ,” Mingyu breathes. 

Wonwoo’s incapable of tearing his eyes away even if he tried, so all he can do is stare, transfixed as Mingyu picks Haku up gently with one hand, the other stroking gently at Haku’s head and ears.

God _. Mood_ , Wonwoo thinks, dazed by the overwhelming swell of warmth in his chest, the stutter of his heartbeat that feels like falling.

 

 

\-----

 

 

As a rule, Halloween is the one night of the year when it’s socially acceptable for grown men and women to play dress-up, so naturally it’s their imperative to go all out.

Yonsei University Severance Hospital’s Annual Halloween Fundraiser is the event of the year for Seoul’s finest. It’s become something of an extravaganza, an event eagerly-anticipated by the SMPA, SMFS, and all of Severance’s residents, hospital staff, and associated emergency services personnel. The money raised goes to Yonsei’s pediatric wing and the University’s sponsored orphanages and womens’ shelters. It’s a night for celebration and escapist thrill, an excuse to let loose and momentarily forget the duty and grave responsibilities they have in the real world. And it’s all for a good cause.

Last year they raised nearly one billion won with 550 attendees. This year, they’re hoping to make one and a half billion.

There’s also a competition for Best Dressed of the night. The glory and prestige of winning first place initiates a ruthless, hard-fought battle for the title every year.

Last year, Wonwoo went as a vampire with a borrowed cape and some smeared lip tint as fake blood, which goes to show how much he cares about the competitive aspect of the event. This year however, he’s stepping up his game in a plain black suit, black overcoat and bat mask. Obviously, the mask is there to indicate he’s going as Bruce Wayne.

Just because Wonwoo isn’t the best at dressing up for Halloween doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a little irony.

“And what in the heck are you supposed to be?” Jihoon says, squinting at him as he gives him a slow and very judgemental glance up and down. Jihoon’s dressed as the Mad Hatter, Tim Burton edition, complete with fire engine red wig and technicolour clown makeup. 

“Zorro? You’re Zorro, right? That’s what the mask is for.” Soonyoung pipes up from beside him as Howl, from the Studio Ghibli movie, harlequin cape fluttering as he gestures at Wonwoo’s bat-shaped mask. 

“My darling uncultured fools, he’s clearly a furry.” Jun, in a bespoke striped Beetlejuice suit, says, his ghoulish makeup carving out his cheekbones as he smirks. “A very well-dressed one.” 

Wonwoo stifles the urge to ball his mask up in his fist and abandon the costume altogether. “I’m Batman.” Wonwoo says, with more patience than they necessarily deserve. “World’s Greatest Detective?”

“Ohhhh.” Soonyoung says, eyes widening. “I mean, we wouldn’t have judged you if you _were_ dressed up as a furry, just so you – ”

“Soonyoung, please.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Jun says. “Furries have rights, too.”

“Do they?” Jihoon asks, brow arched skeptically. “Let’s discuss.”

“No, let’s _not_.” Wonwoo all but begs. “Anyway, I think I see Seungcheol, I’m going to go say hi. Please feel free to kill me if anyone else accuses me of dressing up as a furry.”

Seungcheol, disguised as Frankenstein’s monster, is chatting away with two intimidatingly attractive strangers dressed as the Devil and Tuxedo Mask respectively when Wonwoo comes over to say hello. 

“Wonwoo, hey!” Seungcheol says, breaking out into a grin. “This is Jeonghan and Joshua. They work in the ER together.”

Wonwoo tips his head respectfully. Jeonghan, the one with the scarlet devil horns curving out of his tousled blond hair and scarlet winged eyeliner, smiles and dips his head in greeting.

“Great minds think alike.” Joshua says with a laugh, gesturing between their all-black costumes and masks. “Jeonghan _did_ tell me I’d make more of an impact as Usagi but I already had the cape, so.”

“Actually, I’m _Batman_.”

Being a) a grown man, and b) forced to say this out loud in the span of a few minutes, only makes the entire thing sound stupider. Wonwoo suddenly has many regrets about his costume. 

“Oh!” Joshua murmurs apologetically, pressing his hand to his mouth as Seungcheol laughs outright. “Right – the ears! Of course.”

Jeonghan, for his part, purses his lips, a dark gleam in his eyes. “So this is the notorious Jeon Wonwoo. I can’t help but feel like we’ve already met from everything I’ve heard about you.”

“From hyung?” Wonwoo’s brow wrinkles in curiosity, he wasn’t aware he was such a topic of interest between Seungcheol and his boyfriend.

“Sure,” Jeonghan answers, coy smile curling around his lips. “But mostly from Mingyu.”

 _Ah._ They work together at Severance sometimes. Wonwoo bites at his lip, swallowing the inquisitive urge to ask: _Mingyu talks about him?_

Jeonghan must be able to read minds because he chuckles a little. “If he doesn’t mention your name at least a dozen times a day we joke that he’s off his game.” 

“I’m sure he’s like that with everyone,” Wonwoo says, mentally waving off the comment. Mingyu talks a lot, about everyone. That doesn’t mean anything.

“It’s different with you, Wonwoo-ssi. I assure you. And I’m never wrong about these things.” Jeonghan flicks his gaze up and down the length of Wonwoo’s costume before levelling his gaze on Wonwoo’s. “You two certainly make quite the pair.” 

Wonwoo blinks in puzzlement. “What do you mean?” 

Jeonghan doesn’t reply, just winks at him, mischievous, _knowing_. 

“ _Hyung!_ ” All of a sudden Mingyu’s voice comes sailing over the crowd, loud and sharp, with an undercurrent of alarm.

“Speak of the devil.” Jeonghan quips, looking every bit like the Morningstar himself.

“Hyung, hi!” Mingyu comes to an abrupt stop in front of Wonwoo, cheeks lightly flushed from hurrying over from wherever he’d been moments earlier. He catches Wonwoo’s eye with a smile, big and toothy and bright even as he’s catching his breath and very nearly steals Wonwoo’s in the process. 

It takes Wonwoo a few seconds to notice the rest of Mingyu’s costume: the little cowlick of dark hair curling over his forehead, the royal blue of a skintight costume stretched over his shoulders and biceps, the cape sweeping from his shoulders, and the big red ‘S’ emblazoned across his chest.

“Nice to see you, too, Mingyu.” Jeonghan says. There’s a catlike amusement glittering in his eyes, provocative but harmless.

It snaps Mingyu’s attention away from Wonwoo right away. Mingyu freezes like there’s a miniature lightning bolt sparking up his spine, embarrassment tingeing his face as he bows his head bashfully, belatedly, at the other three.

“Hey, hyungs. Jeonghanie-hyung.” Mingyu glances at Wonwoo and then back at Jeonghan, a wordless anxiousness flickering across his face. “I see you’ve met Wonwoo-hyung.”

“It feels like I knew him already from how much you— ”

“Anyway!” Mingyu interrupts, face flushed. Wonwoo hates that his mind takes a moment to think: _cute_. “Wonwoo-hyung and I have to go — talk about something. About – important Byeol stuff. Right now. We’ll, uh, see you later? Yep! See you later, hyungs.”

He’s so very, _very_ bad at this.

“Oh, it’s alright, we’ll find you.” A half-smirk appears on Jeonghan’s face as he gives a flutter of his hand in dismissal, and there’s something leonine about the way his gaze lingers on Mingyu.

But Wonwoo lets Mingyu tug him away nevertheless, his palm warm and fingers lacing tight around Wonwoo’s as they hurry away leaving their friends staring after their backs with varying expressions of amusement and knowing.

When Mingyu’s dragged them somewhere he deems far away enough to call it a successful escape, he seems to realise suddenly that he’s still holding Wonwoo’s hand. His brows shoot up, mouth parting as he catches himself, dropping Wonwoo’s hand. The abrupt lack of contact sends a spark of static through Wonwoo. It ripples through his hand, the joints of his fingers, settling in the outline of his palm with an involuntary tension as it curls around empty air. He suffocates the irrational urge to seek out that warmth again, snuffs it out into non-existence on the outskirts of his mind.

All this, simply because Mingyu held his hand. Wonwoo genuinely might be losing it. 

“Sorry about that,” Mingyu breathes. His eyes are lined, Wonwoo realises, the angled brushstroke of ink making them seem bigger and brighter. He’s Clark Kent’s South Korean doppelganger if he’d just stepped off a runway rather than out of a phonebooth. 

“I love Jeonghan but the devil costume isn’t just for show, he’s highkey evil and being his dongsaeng is kind of like accidentally selling your soul to him except you’d also do anything for him anyway because he’s actually really sweet and amazing? So. Um. Yeah _._ ”

Mingyu bites his lip, presses them together, and then settles on a sort of half-smile as he gives Wonwoo a little onceover – half only in the sense that he’s trying so very hard to keep it from spilling out onto his face like open daylight. 

“We match,” he says, his voice small and delighted. Wonwoo can feel his own smile tugging at his face, a helpless instinct.

And they must make quite the pair: Wonwoo, dressed as Bruce Wayne, AKA Batman, and Mingyu in his Superman costume with the signature cowlick curving handsomely over his forehead.

“People are going to think we planned this.” 

“They’re just jealous we have the best costumes of the night.” Mingyu shrugs, his confidence, despite being dressed as a superhero that traditionally wears his underwear on the outside, so self-assured it’s endearing. 

“It suits you.” 

Mingyu’s expression flickers, like a physical stutter. He ducks his head, gaze slanting somewhere to the left of Wonwoo. 

“Thanks, hyung.” He curls in on himself, hesitating for a few moments before speaking up again: “You, um. You make a really good Batman, too.” 

“Well, I’m glad someone thinks so. My friends accused me of dressing up as a furry.” 

Mingyu lets out a surprised laugh, small and high-pitched. “Maybe they’re on to something there.”

“ _Stop._ ” Wonwoo huffs, voice straining with exasperation. “Don’t you start, too.” 

“The Dark Furry does have a certain ring to it.”

“Oh my god.”

Mingyu giggles, his face scrunching up happy and amused and delighted at Wonwoo’s expense.

Wonwoo wants to make him do that again. Which is why he says: “I can’t believe you had the perfect opportunity to say The Dark Furry _Rises_ and you didn’t take it.”

Mingyu bursts into more giggles that shake his breath so hard he has to clutch at Wonwoo for support. Wonwoo tries not to think about how big and warm his hands are on his arm, draped around his shoulders, the softness radiating from Mingyu despite his excessively toned physique. Tries not to think about how close he is, how good he smells. ( _God_ , Mingyu always smells good, it’s that cursed Man Scent of his cologne – thick and masculine and alluring.) 

Mingyu straightens back up, his laughter dying but not the smile on his face. For someone whose face could be so intimidatingly handsome, his cheeks are impossibly soft and bright. If Wonwoo were a clichéd, trashy romance author, he’d liken him to the sun. Or the stars. Lit from within. 

“You really do look good, though,” Mingyu says, eyes crinkling like he means every word of it. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in a suit.” 

Wonwoo snorts. “Don’t enjoy it too much because it only happens at funerals and weddings and neither are any cause for celebration.”

“You’re so unromantic, Wonwoo-hyung.”

“I prefer pragmatic.”

“Oh, _okay_ , Mr. Batman. Guess I’ll leave you here to brood in your Dungeon of Isolation. Your Gargoyle Tower of Darkness.”

“You’re saying that as if Superman doesn’t literally have a Fortress of Solitude where he goes to be alone.”

Mingyu wrinkles his nose. “Fortress of what now?” 

“Solitude.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes playfully. “Fake comic fan.”

“This is massive nerd energy, I hope you know that.”

“You don’t even like DC,” Wonwoo snipes. “This is completely for show.”

“And what about it?” Mingyu arches a challenging eyebrow, propping a hand on his hip.

“I’m just saying. You’re a casual MCU fan at best, I bet you couldn’t even name more than three members of the Justice League.” 

“Maybe not.” Mingyu says, the syllables bouncing on his tongue. He blows out a puff of air, his cowlick fluffing up as he does so. “But I make a hot Superman.”

Wonwoo splutters, caught off-guard by the pleased smirk Mingyu has plastered to his face now. 

“And maybe if you didn’t spend so much time indoors playing video games in your free time, _you’d_ have the Batfleck body to sell _your_ costume.” 

Wonwoo’s jaw drops.

“You little _brat._ Video games are educational. They make you smarter because it actually involves using different parts of your brain. Something you’re clearly lacking!” 

“ _Sure_ , hyung.” Mingyu says, sing-song and mocking. “Whatever you say.”

“Just because you’re a – sports person who spends all their time bulking up in the gym and drinking protein shakes and flexing your big, dumb muscles in front of the mirror or whatever.” 

“You think my muscles are big?”

 _Fuck._ Wonwoo didn’t mean to say that part out loud.

Mingyu makes a pleased sound. “I’m glad all my hard work’s paying off.”

“That’s a shame because I take it back. They’re adequately average-sized. Perfectly regular.”

“Perfect?” Mingyu echoes, smile growing on his face.

“New topic of conversation: I think Byeol’s finally chewed the whale toy you got him beyond repair.” 

Mingyu slips immediately into a pout. “Aw. That one was expensive –” He seems to catch himself at the last second, a little too late. “I mean –” 

Wonwoo gives him a look suspended between disbelief and resignation. “Anyway. It’s his punishment for constantly biting on it. No more whale toy.”

“He’s a dog, hyung, it’s not his fault he’s bitey.”

“Still. He should know better than to treat the things you get him like that.”

Mingyu huffs a laugh, eyes glittering with fondness, and Wonwoo feels his heart leap. “It’s fine. There’ll be plenty of other toys anyway.”

 _Mingyu_ , Wonwoo wants to say. Please don’t buy my dog anymore expensive chew toys. And while you’re at it, please stop looking at me like that and talking like that and making me feel like a middle schooler trying to talk to his first real crush. _Please._  

“You free this Friday? We should watch the new Spider-man movie that’s just come out.” 

“See? You’re a Marvel fan cosplaying as Superman, I called it.” 

“Mingyu!” A voice comes sailing out from the crowd as a small group of people make their way over to them. The voice that calls out belongs to a girl dressed as O-Ren-Ishi from _Kill Bill_ , her jet-black hair pulled up into a sleek, flawless knot at the back of her neck.

“You ran off without saying anything, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Sorry, Jennie.” Mingyu says, bashful. “I, um. Saw someone I knew. This is Wonwoo.”

“ _Oh._ ” Jennie says, blinking fast. And then a gleam alights in her eyes, one that makes her soft features sharpen like the blade of the fake sword she’s carrying. “Well. That explains a lot.”

“C’mon, let him live.” The girl beside her with long red curls in the bloodied nurse costume and eyepatch of Elle Driver, AKA California Mountain Snake. “It’s Halloween.” 

“Besides, Mingyu, you lost the bet, remember?” The blond in the Bride’s bright yellow suit grins, dazzling and devious. “Loser buys the first and second rounds.”

The only other girl that hasn’t spoken yet, dressed as Gogo Yubari, of course, chimes in, mischievous smile curving at her red lips. “You’re free to invite Wonwoo-ssi to join us, though.”

Mingyu visibly swallows, and then shakes his head. “Uh. No, that’s okay. Hyung, I’ll, uh. Be right back, I guess? Sorry, I _do_ owe them.”

“Don’t worry,” says California Mountain Snake. “We’ll get him back to you in one piece.” She winks. “Mostly.”

And then they’re whisking Mingyu off in search of drinks and bad decisions, and Wonwoo’s left alone to his own devices. He manages to find Soonyoung and Jun and Jihoon again, lets them rope him into a couple shots of soju and a few more of vodka.

It’s by sheer chance that he manages to find Mingyu again. Then again, calling it chance when he’s the only six-foot-two man dressed as Superman in the room is probably a bit of a stretch. As is the minor detail that he’s dancing with a girl in a sleek, black skintight catsuit. They seem to be in some kind of dance-off – if the goal of the competition was to out-seduce each other – their moves growing increasingly sultry and provocative in a deliberately coy, theatrical way. It’s performative. For the purpose of entertainment. The crowd around them is howling and shrieking, cheering on their antics as Mingyu and Catwoman sway their hips to the beat.

At one point as Mingyu’s in the midst of sliding his hands up his intimidatingly well-muscled chest, he locks eyes with the crowd and sends them a risqué wink.

Wonwoo has to remind himself to exhale. Then _inhale_.

Mingyu’s reached the level of drunk that compels him to break into his neighbour’s house to play with his dog, or accidentally punch strangers in the face. It’s completely unpredictable.  _Mesmerising._

He tosses his head back with a laugh as someone jokingly waves a thousand won bill in his face and slinks forward to let them slip it into the neckline of his costume.

He isn’t a professional dancer like Soonyoung, there’s no craft or precision to the way Mingyu moves to the beat, but it’s the carelessness, the confidence, the sheer thrill of watching him in the moment, enjoying himself, _laughing_ at himself, that’s so utterly magnetic. 

When the song ends and Mingyu sweeps into a thespian’s bow, it’s to raucous applause, the crowd chanting his name as he bursts into laughter and waves off their standing ovation, his face illuminated under the lights, gleaming despite the sheen of sweat at his brow.

This is him in his element, Wonwoo realises. The _center_ of everything. Someone made to be watched and adored, someone who moves through the world with confidence, self-assured in everything he does. Someone who commands attention with a single look, a devil-may-care smile. It’s one thing to know Mingyu’s attractive and fatally charming, and another thing entirely to watch him wield that charisma and energy as effortlessly as he breathes.

It’s a far cry from the soft, clumsy, blushing Mingyu Wonwoo’s grown so used to seeing. 

Mingyu spots him first, waving excitedly when he catches Wonwoo’s eye. He comes sauntering over to Wonwoo, his hair in disarray, teeth flashing in the dark. 

“Wonwoo-hyung! Did you see me dance?” 

“I did.” Wonwoo replies, his throat feeling tight. “I… didn’t know you could dance like that.”

“Only after the fifth drink,” Mingyu quips. And then his voice dips into a lower register, something flirtatious in his voice that Wonwoo’s never heard this serious before. “But I do perform sometimes on special request.” 

He’s leaning in, as if to mimic whispering in Wonwoo’s ear but his centre of gravity must be off because he’s tilting dangerously towards being off-balance. 

“That’s nice, Gyu,” Wonwoo says. “Can I request that you drink some water?”

Mingyu frowns. “What’m I gonna do with _water_?”

“Consume it, hopefully.” Wonwoo holds out his hand expectantly. “Come on.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up when he sees Wonwoo’s outstretched palm, the big, easily pleased puppy Wonwoo knows him as brightening on his face. He takes Wonwoo’s hand, swinging it between them with a little giggle. 

“Hyung, your hand is so cold,” Mingyu mumbles.

“Bad circulation, sorry.” 

“Nn,” Mingyu hums. “Don’t be. ‘s kinda’ nice. I’ve always been told m’ hands are hot. It’s a balance.” He lifts their hands up to eye-level and shakes them once. “See?”

Wonwoo doesn’t tell him that this is something he’s noticed in the past.

“Okay. We’re going to go to the bar and get you some water.” 

Mingyu lets their hands drop back to where they were between them, stills, and then pulls out the most dangerous weapon in his arsenal: a wide-eyed pout.

“Hyung, you don’t wanna dance?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Wonwoo says evenly. “But water first.”

“I wanna dance with hyung,” Mingyu whines, sounding minutes short of stomping his foot, a note of brattiness tingeing his voice.

“Maybe later.” Wonwoo squeezes his hand to see if it’ll convince him. “If you’re good, maybe.”

Of all the persuasive tactics that Wonwoo could’ve used, this is the one that seems to do the trick. Mingyu perks up. 

“If I’m good?”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo nods encouragingly, squashing the illict flicker of knowing. Of  _knowing_ and arousal. “If you’re very good.”

“Okay.” Mingyu says, his big eyes going sparkly and round. “I’ll be good.”

And that’s that. Wonwoo leads him across the dancefloor to the bar and gets him a plastic cup of water and makes Mingyu drink it all. 

“Hyung. _Hyung_ ,” Mingyu says when he’s done with the water; he smells like liquor and recklessness and all Wonwoo wants to do is drown in it. “Are we gonna dance now?” 

“Mingyu…” 

“ _Hyung._ ” Mingyu echoes, and then his eyes go a little distant as his nose scrunches up. “My face feels funny.”   

“I think you should go home.” 

Mingyu sniffs, head drooping. It sends some stray locks of hair, loosened from their slicked back gel, flopping over his forehead like one of those puppies with droopy ears. Wonwoo moves, driven by some unconscious instinct, to brush it out of his eyes. 

“Hyung.” Mingyu’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist, faster than a man this heavily intoxicated should be able to move. His fingers feel like they’re searing outlines into Wonwoo’s skin, his fingerprints burning tiny constellations into the back of his hand. Mingyu’s staring at him with this singular intensity, desperation veined with urgency, as if Wonwoo is the only person in the whole world to him in this moment.  

When he speaks, it’s with a whisper of crushed velvet, like the smoke and burn of good whiskey going down. 

“ _Can I tell you a secret?_ ” 

Mingyu doesn’t look like he’s in any state to be spilling secrets; an instinctive urge to _protect_ , to press his hand to Mingyu’s lips and shush him lashes right through Wonwoo’s chest, loud and insistent and impossible to ignore. 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo begins, voice low and careful.

Mingyu gives a jerky shake of his head, loosening his grip to smooth his palm over Wonwoo’s, lining their fingers up so he can curl his through the spaces between Wonwoo’s fingers. He dips down, close enough that Wonwoo can feel his breath grazing his ear, warm and _too close_. 

“Not here.” 

Mingyu turns, their hands still locked together, and begins leading him from the static lights and music and thundering bass of the party. They wind through the crowd, through the darkness and neon and swirls of spotlight and shadow, until they’re pushing through a back entrance and out into an empty corridor. The cold cuts in between the layers of Wonwoo’s clothes, pulling in against his skin where the heat of drunken adrenaline been keeping him warm. 

They’re two feet across the threshold when Mingyu seems to trip over seemingly nothing and is sent sprawling to his feet, taking Wonwoo plunging down with him. 

Wonwoo flails his hand out for leverage, searching for something, _anything_ to slow their descent but gets only a vicious pinprick of pain slashing across his hand for it.

“Sorry, _sorry_ , sorry,” Mingyu splutters, letting go of Wonwoo’s hand so he can stumble haphazardly to his feet. He holds out his hand for Wonwoo to take and Wonwoo grabs it, getting to his feet with a grimace. “Hyung, ‘m so sorry. I’m such an _idiot_. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, Mingyu. It’s okay.” 

“Did I hurt you? Oh, _shit_ , I’m such a clumsy, _stupid_  — ” 

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, raising his voice a little. “I’m fine.”

“You’re _bleeding_ ,” Mingyu replies, eyes going big and distressed. 

There’s a small cut on Wonwoo’s hand from where he’d tried to stabilise them but it’s barely large enough to qualify as an actual injury. 

“I’m fine, Mingyu. It’s not your fault.” 

“Fuck.” Mingyu presses his hand to his forehead, blinking fast. “ _Yes_ , it is. Just. Wait here for a second, okay?” 

“What?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise.” Mingyu’s already hurrying back into the hall, scarlet cape fluttering behind him as he runs off in search of something to save Wonwoo from his perfectly manageable scrape. 

Wonwoo loses track of time a little, between the alcohol he’s consumed and the cocktail of feelings swirling in his head that he doesn’t know how to begin to pick apart, it’s distracting enough being alone without Mingyu’s presence to complicate things even more.

Mingyu comes back a few minutes later with a small pile of napkins and a box of bandaids, a determined puppy look on his face – puppyish because he hasn’t abandoned the wide-eyed apologetic expression, but now it’s been paired with some furrowed brows of resolve.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu murmurs, biting on his lip as he takes Wonwoo’s hand gently. One of the napkins has been dipped in bit of liquor, presumably, because it stings a little when he dabs it softly at the cut. Wonwoo lets out a light hiss and Mingyu makes a small, sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, his thumb stroking gently across the skin near the cut.

“It’s my fault. ‘m so clumsy sometimes I feel like gravity’s out to get me.”

“It’s the world’s smallest cut,” Wonwoo says. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Mingyu says nothing, staying silent as he works, as he takes out a bandaid from the box and peels it out of its wrapper. Wonwoo doesn’t realise there’s a little design on the back of it until Mingyu’s sticking it down and smoothing his finger over it. 

“ _Hello Kitty?_ ”

“Mm.” Mingyu gives a small shrug that curls his shoulders in on himself. “They’re cute. And the younger patients like them. Keeps them distracted and takes their minds off of any smaller injuries while I’m working.” 

 _You’re_ cute, Wonwoo thinks. You’re _so_ , so _cute_. 

Mingyu’s still holding onto his hand, longer than would be considered necessary for administering first aid, and then longer still. He has Wonwoo’s hand cradled in his palms like he doesn’t know quite how to let go. Mingyu’s palms are so much larger than his that the warmth of them engulfs Wonwoo’s fingers, keeping the cold at bay if only for this moment.

“There.” Mingyu says in a voice that’s only meant to be heard by him. “All better.”

And then Wonwoo does something that he’s never done before, something he hasn’t done in a very, very long time: he acts without thinking.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss it before you say that?” 

It’s spontaneous, and recklessly stupid, and the moment the words leave his mouth Wonwoo wants to take them back, wants to rewind time or disintegrate into nothing or vanish into thin fucking air. This is why he thinks over everything he says, and then thinks and _re_ thinks. Thinks until he might drive himself mad with it, but anything is better than letting his brain go off-script and winding up with _this_ fucking disaster of an improvisation.

Mingyu, for his part, looks startled. Not with shock or embarrassment, but with a small, softly-tinged wonder. Awe, even.

His lips part, his lashes fluttering as he glances down at Wonwoo’s hand clutched in his. He might as well have Wonwoo’s beating heart in his hands for all that it feels like Wonwoo’s carved it out of his chest and placed it there. 

Wonwoo watches — his heart in his throat, heart in Mingyu’s hands — as Mingyu lifts Wonwoo’s hand to his lips and kisses it. Right over the Hello Kitty bandaid. The heat of his breath curling over Wonwoo’s skin. His big, moonlit eyes gazing up at Wonwoo from between his dark lashes, impossibly bright for the dimness of the hallway they’re in. His cologne mingling with the sweat and body heat of being so near.

It’s agony. It’s _euphoria_. It’s complete and utter torture.

With his hand anchored around Wonwoo’s, Mingyu uses the leverage to tug Wonwoo closer, and then he’s drawing even closer still and Wonwoo can’t tell anymore if it’s Mingyu or him that moves first all he knows is that Mingyu’s face is angled towards his and he’s gazing into Wonwoo’s eyes like he’s searching for something, for permission, for an _answer_. And whatever he sees, it sends a visible shiver through him, and then Mingyu’s leaning in, his warmth and smell and closeness bleeding into Wonwoo’s consciousness, filling it with nothing but him. 

All that separates them is a heartbeat, a flicker of a nanosecond, and then –

 _And then —_  

There’s a deafening _bang_ as someone bursts out through the doors behind them, sound and noise and laughter flooding into the empty hallway, and the tension of the moment snaps, plummeting to the ground in free fall with no parachute. Just like that.

They fly apart like the air has been ripped from between them.

Wonwoo’s pulse is a thunderstorm in his ears, his ribs crackling with lightning and static electricity as he struggles to even his breath. 

And Mingyu, Mingyu is staring at him with this awful expression on his face. Fear, and horror, and underlying panic, as if he’s done something he can’t take back and doesn’t know how to begin to fix. 

“I’m sorry.”

It’s so soft that Wonwoo almost misses it. His voice hovers in the air, small and transparent like a ball of blown glass. 

“ _I didn’t —_  ” 

Mingyu’s face crumples, and for a terrifying, heart-rending second there Wonwoo thinks he’s going to cry. He pulls himself together at the last moment, eyes wide and shiny, jaw clenched tight, fists knotted at his sides, but with this last-ditch resilience to his expression like he’s refusing to break down and lose it right here in front of Wonwoo. And then he turns on his heel, shoves the door open and disappears through it.

_I’m sorry._

A light breeze whispers down the corridor, coils around Wonwoo’s throat, seeps down the ridges of his spine like a shudder. He didn’t realise how cold it was out here without Mingyu until he was gone.

 

 

\-----

 

 

The thing is, Mingyu is the master of compartmentalisation. He has to be, doing what he does every day without reprieve or complaint. Running into a burning building so he can save the family on the seventh floor, calming someone who’s gone into shock in the midst of a highway accident, or giving someone their last moments of peace when they’re too far gone to save.

It’s the opposite of what Wonwoo does, which is catastrophise and obsess.

He’s never had the freedom of squaring things away in neat, faraway boxes so he can focus on the matter at hand. But then, that isn’t fair, is it? Freedom isn’t the right word for it. 

They simply have different ways of ticking. The mechanics of their minds answer to different laws.

Not to mention: Mingyu has the perfect defence for everything that happened last night. They both do.

It might come in the form of a raging, crushing headache but Wonwoo would take this punishment any day of being stone cold sober in the light of day. He curls around his pillow, and then his toilet bowl, and finds himself unusually grateful for being a pile of limbs and a burning migraine in the aftermath of a night out.

He falls asleep for two hours — passes out, really — on the floor of his living room as Byeol licks at his feet and his hands and makes a big fuss out of acting like Wonwoo might be dying. (Wonwoo doesn’t correct him.)

When he wakes up later feeling a little less near death, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.

He fishes out his phone from the carpet and squints blearily at the screen to confirm that he has, indeed, wasted away the better part of the day being a shell of a human being. 

Maybe it’s the hangover giving him a new appreciation for his previously non-intoxicated existence and a desire to impart upon the world an impression of him that isn’t drunken reprobate in case he’s found dead in the morning ( _Jeon Wonwoo, 1st November 2018 Aged 27 years. Occasionally beloved son and brother. He is survived only by his dog_ ). But the part of his brain that isn’t trying to revolt against the rest of his body can’t stop thinking about the possibility that Mingyu might be thinking about him.

If he’s even awake.

 

 

 **wonwoo >>>  mingoo  
**hey

 

 **mingoo  
**dsLKfdlf m l

 

 **wonwoo  
**how are you feeling?

 

 **mingoo  
**like ive been run ovr by a bullett train

 

 **wonwoo**  
as the kids would say  
big mood

 

 **mingoo**  
u f nfjn nerd  
an wat abt u hyugn

 

 **wonwoo  
**like i was there beside you when you were run over by the bullet train

 

 **mingoo**  
nice  
i wanna dei  
DEI  
DIAE  
fck

 

 **wonwoo  
**drink some water

 

 **mingoo**  
ok i did  
still wanna dei  
DI E

 

 **wonwoo**  
take some painkillers  
eat some food

 

 **mingoo  
**head hurts :(((((((((

 

 

There’s that protective feeling again, rising in his chest alongside the nausea, thick and sharp, like he’s trying to swallow smoke.

He can imagine Mingyu, ruffled and exhausted and looking like he’d been chewed up and spat out by a hurricane. It makes Wonwoo want to reach out and stroke the hair of his imaginary Hungover Mingyu. Hungover Mingyu and Drunk Mingyu both look overwhelmingly like puppies to Wonwoo’s hangover-addled brain.

 

 

 **wonwoo  
**big baby

 

 **mingoo**  
dont mak efun of me when im alredy at m y wrost  
when i die my sprit will avnege you from the aftrliefe  
u will nevre know a momants peace

 

 **wonwoo  
**oh I’m terrified

 

 **mingoo**  
you Shold be >:(  
id makke a very scary ghist

 

 **wonwoo**  
ok Ghist  
want me to bring some food over later?

 

 **mingoo  
**hyung yiou dont hav to do taht

 

 **wonwoo  
**i want to

 

 

 _You’re always the one taking care of me_ , Wonwoo almost types. 

Keyword being _almost_.

Because Jeon Wonwoo is a fucking coward when it comes to being emotionally honest and vulnerable with the people he cares most about.

 _Especially_ the people he cares most about.

 

 

 **mingoo**  
ok t hne  
txt me wehn yoru outsfie

 

 **wonwoo  
**will do

 

 **mingoo  
**luvdv u hyng

 

\-----

 

 

Wonwoo watches Mingyu carefully, as much as he can in his current condition without giving himself a secondary headache.

He seems… _fine_. As fine as a hungover person can be expected to be the morning after excessive amounts of alcohol and poor decision-making.

There’s no mention of what happened between them or even any indication that Mingyu remembers.

Mingyu has what they call in the business a _perfect alibi_.

His testimony can’t hold up in court because he was under the influence. And even if it could, Wonwoo have to admit that _he_ remembers what happened to get to the truth.

Mingyu looks too soft and comfortable hugging Byeol to his chest where he’s tucked into the couch cushions for Wonwoo to bear the thought of disturbing his peace just for something as pointless as a hypothetical. 

Why ruin everything just to be sure? Why ruin _this_ just so he can have the certainty of knowing?

Wonwoo orders Chinese food to Mingyu’s house and Mingyu doesn’t speak for a good, solid ten minutes as he inhales what looks like an entire bowl of noodles in about three mouthfuls.

As the colour settles back into Mingyu’s face and he’s looking slightly more himself, Wonwoo _does_ catch him glancing at the side of his head when he thinks he isn’t looking. But apart from these few moments of suspicion, Wonwoo has no other leads, no other evidence to go off of.

They sprawl out on Mingyu’s Architectural Digest centrefold couch and eat their takeout from the boxes and watch _Boku no Hero Academia_ because apparently Jihoon and Mingyu have been “casually messaging back and forth it’s totally chill don’t worry hyung you’re still my favourite” (which, okay.. cool good to know not that Wonwoo even asked) ever since that day they met in Wonwoo’s apartment and Jihoon recommended it in his Top 5 Must-Watch Animes of 2018. 

It’s all so underwhelmingly normal.

Wonwoo can live with normal. Normal means _safe_ , means that whatever lapse of judgement, whatever slip of self-restraint that happened that night on Halloween, doesn’t have to exist. 

It’s gone, just like the masks and costumes they were dressed up in. The two people that almost kissed on Halloween don’t have to be _them_. 

Wonwoo settles back into the couch, watching Mingyu card his fingers through Byeol’s fur, the LED light of the screen reflecting off his silhouette, the slope of his nose and his small absent-minded smile.

 _It’s enough_ , he thinks to himself. This has to be enough.

\-----

 

 

Soonyoung’s already halfway through his tub of strawberry ice cream – their favourite for all quarter-life crisis related emergencies – when Wonwoo arrives at his place. He’s got _10 Things I Hate About You_ playing on the screen which is a classic Soonyoung rom-com for bad days. On the scale of Soonyoung Movies to Get In His Feelings To, _10 Things_ is about a Defcon 2 level crisis, with _Clueless_ being Defcon 1.

“I hate him.” Soonyoung announces from his blanket fort, or rather the makeshift pile of every blanket in his house arranged in a kind of nest around him. 

Wonwoo grabs the spoon Soonyoung’s left out for him on the coffee table and clambers into the blanket heap. 

“Why?” He says simply, digging into the ice cream as Soonyoung tilts it towards him. 

“Because,” Soonyoung sniffs. “He’s a confusing asshole who says one thing one minute and another thing the next. And he’s so _frustrating_ and _pretty_ and I just want to punch his stupid face.”

“Or kiss him,” he mumbles around his spoon.

“You’re good at multitasking.” Wonwoo slumps back against the pillow that’s conveniently smushed behind his head next to Soonyoung.

“I know and that’s the _problem_. I don’t know what he wants anymore. He says he doesn’t want to be a _capital T_ _Thing_ , but then he gets offended when I don’t call him my boyfriend and don’t acknowledge that we’ve apparently been dating for nearly four months. I mean who even counts going to a jjimjilbang as a first fucking date? I was exhausted from practice and invited him along because he seemed like he wanted to hang out, like, _just because we made out_ doesn’t make it a date!”

“Is that even allowed in a bathhouse?”

Soonyoung rolls his head to slant him an impatient look. “We’ve done so much worse in other places.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. “I’m going to regret I asked that, please stop.”

“And what about you? Are you going to make me work for it, too?”

Wonwoo sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. Things are… good. They’re fine.”

“Sounds like they’re _not_ fine or else you’d be telling me you and Mingyu are disgustingly happy and moving in together and adopting adorable stray fur babies.”

“That’s never going to happen.” Wonwoo stares pointedly down into the ice cream so he doesn’t have to look at Soonyoung and his soul-piercing gaze.

“ _Oh_ , so something did happen.”

“No. I told you, literally nothing happened. We almost kissed but then we didn’t.”

“God,” Soonyoung murmurs, stuffing another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “So, my problem is that I’m stuck in the middle part of _When Harry Met Sally_ and you two _want_ to be _Marley & Me_ but instead you’re all the _Pride & Prejudice_ scenes when Mr. Darcy lusts longingly after Elizabeth with this constipated look on his face because he’s trying to repress his true feelings for her.”

“I hate this.” Wonwoo says after several beats of silence. The ice cream, which he _doesn’t_ hate, drips sadly from his spoon which has just been hovering mid-air as he contemplates Soonyoung’s words and tries not to have an existential crisis over them. 

It’s not that anything Soonyoung has said is even news to him. It’s not. Wonwoo has enough self-awareness to acknowledge it.

Wonwoo sticks out his hand, waves it in front of Soonyoung’s face.

“Look.”

“At _what_ , bro?” 

Wonwoo carefully lifts at the corner of the Hello Kitty bandaid, delicately peels it back to reveal the completely healed over skin with only the shiny light pink mark of a small scar to indicate that there was ever a cut there. 

“Oh my god, did he give that to you?” 

Wonwoo says nothing, just slowly smooths the bandaid back in place. Because Mingyu gave it to him.

Mingyu _gave him_ this Hello Kitty bandaid. 

Soonyoung flops his head back into the blanket mound. “Jesus Christ. How do you begin to _unfuck_ something that is so completely and beyond fucked.” 

Wonwoo sighs, the strawberry ice-cream freezing on his tongue as he swallows. For once, he has no answers.

 

\-----

 

 

Here’s the thing: Wonwoo’s content with being alone. He’s self-reliant. He’s at home with solitude.

It’s something he and cats have in common and apart from the plethora of other superficial and more complex reasons why he identifies as a cat person.

Wonwoo’s always pictured himself someday owning a cat.

Growing old with a cat or two had always seemed more realistic, more pragmatic than chasing after the idea of a soulmate, a perfect other half waiting out there in the world for him to stumble into their lives and complete them.

Wonwoo isn’t _incomplete_ , and maybe that’s the problem.

 _How can you know?_ He can imagine people saying to him, expressions morphed in variations of disbelief. Skepticism. Pity. _How do you know you’ll never fall in love with the right person and everything will be different because you’re_ in love _and suddenly you’re realising you want to spend the rest of your life with that person?_  

Because, Wonwoo thinks, _because love is a means to an end_ and we’ve built a society around this idea of falling in and out of love and we use it to convince ourselves that this indefinite, mercurial feeling is the key to everlasting happiness. We spend our whole lives being told that _The One_ is out there, and that once we find them everything is to meant to make sense – love songs and poetry and the secret to self-fulfilment – that some people can live their entire existences believing that being loved is the only thing that can make you truly whole.

So, no. Wonwoo doesn’t believe in soulmates. Or love, really. But he does believe in cats.

He’d spent months looking up different cat shelters and consistently updating a folder of bookmarks of cats up for adoption, a folder that he’d periodically browse through and feel his heartstrings being tugged at, before Soojin brought up the idea of rescuing a dog. All it took was one look at her face, and the happiness the idea of raising a dog together brought her, and Wonwoo had capitulated without a single mention of his weeks of researching, and dreaming, _longing_.

All because it made her happy, and for the three and a half years that they were together, her happiness had been his. It was as simple as that.

Byeol had adored Soojin upon sight, had looked at her like she hung the sun, the stars, and the moon. Once upon a time, Wonwoo had looked at her like that, too. Sometimes, he can’t help but think that Byeol acts the way he does with him because he blames him for how their relationship ended. Subconsciously, there’s always been part of Wonwoo that agreed with him. 

Soojin had wanted more from life than Wonwoo, or Seoul, or living in Korea could offer her. That was never something Wonwoo was going to change. Her dreams had always burned meteoric with ambition, fierce independence – the same traits that’d made him fall in love with her in the first place.

At least, he’d assumed it was love until they were standing in the aftermath of their relationship, the smoke clearing and leaving him with a mouthful of ashen regrets and the realisation that what he felt for her, what he’d been led to believe was love, and commitment, and trust, was just a very lifelike imitation of the real thing. 

It doesn’t quite feel real to Wonwoo, the concept of finding someone, falling for them, choosing to be with them for the rest of your life, the rest of forever, till death do you part.

It’s as if the rest of the world is in on this secret, this grand conspiracy that Wonwoo has the map and cypher and splintered puzzle pieces to figure out but can’t crack the code for. On good days, it’s the tingling static sensation of ASMR, a slight crackling just beneath his skin, uncomfortable enough to be noticeable, but bearable. On the bad days, it’s purgatory, a suspension between dreaming and awake. It’s the cloying numbness of sleep paralysis flooding his lungs with ice, and a chokehold tangling around his teeth.

In his cruellest moments, the times when he’s resigned himself to self-pity – not drowning but lying face down in a shallow pool of his own misery – he feels like a fraud, a liar playacting at intimacy and affection, and worst of all, love.

_According to Greek Mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces._

In his _Symposium_ , Plato claimed that these four-armed, four-legged humans were split into two separate beings, condemned to spend their lives in search of their other halves. When people find these miraculous other halves, they pass their whole lives together, desiring that they be melted into one, to spend their lives as one person instead of two.

Wonwoo first came across _The Symposium_ in his last year of high school. It was the same year his father began a secret affair with his secretary. Wonwoo wouldn’t discover this until two years later, in the second year of his forensic criminology degree at one of the most prestigious SKY universities in the country. In the ethics and philosophy course he’d taken as an elective, they studied Plato, and his theory of love, for two consecutive weeks.

 _And the reason for this,_ Plato wrote, _is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called Love_. 

This, Wonwoo decided, was the most terrifying thing he’d ever read in his life. 

Coming home late one night after an evening spent holed up in a library, Wonwoo caught his father in the middle of a phone call with his mistress. But there’d been signs before that. As an aspiring detective armed with a deductive brilliance that had earned him the good graces of all his professors, Wonwoo couldn’t help _but_ notice. 

The urge to confront his father and put him on trial for his betrayal of their family and everything they were lived and died on that single night. He could write five-thousand-word thesis papers on the implications of Massively Parallel DNA Sequencing for forensic biology, or the innovative developments in facial recognition algorithms in biometric security systems, but he didn’t have the words to anatomise the breakdown of twenty years of marriage. His mother never even had a clue. Not until the tell-tale lipstick stain and scent of another woman’s perfume on one of his shirts turned up in the laundry. 

(And maybe the hollow space in his chest is genetic, something he inherited from a man who was careful, _discreet_ , subtle to a fault until he decided he didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore and slipped.) 

What broke his heart wasn’t the revelation that his father was a lying, cheating asshole. 

No, it was the fact that after everything was said and done, his mother stayed with him.

Their family has always been one that keeps their feelings close to the chest, their truths in closed fists. Wonwoo buried his anger in his studies, burning through academic achievement after achievement as he retreated from his friends and their suffocating concern. When winter break came months later, and Wonwoo went home for the first time all year during Chuseok, they sat together as a family at the dinner table. His father at the head like nothing had transpired. Like everything was just fucking fine.

Wonwoo has always run cold – poor circulation rendering his fingers and toes perpetually cold to the touch — but that night, it was Arctic ice cracking, the oldest and thickest parts breaking up beneath heat and atmospheric pressure until he finally shattered.

_How can you sit there and act like nothing’s changed how can you pretend you didn’t break her heart how could you do that to her how could you —_

_How do you fucking sleep at night_ knowing the hell you put her through, the scandal, the rumour-mongering, the victim blaming from our fucked up society that puts the responsibility on women to apologise when their husbands are screwing their secretaries. 

 _How do you look at yourself in the mirror and not want to throw up?_  

And his father had taken it all, face expressionless, _unmoved_ , in silence. Wonwoo stormed out of the house into the night, resolving right then and there never to come back, not as long as _that man_ lived under its roof.

Only, his mother had come after him. Had caught his hand in hers and tugged him into the garden beneath the moonlight, the dark blanched in its glow. 

 _Why_ , he’d gasped out, the word tearing itself open on his ribs. _Why didn’t you leave him._  

His mother had taken his face in her hands, her soft, slender fingers pressed against his cheekbones as she thumbed the tears spilling down his cheeks away, the pads of her thumbs kissing them dry.

_I don’t expect you to understand._

And it was as if the last piece of resistance in him had broken, his eyes welling with tears and spilling over as he cried like he hadn’t in years and years as he begged her, then, to explain.

 _Because_ , his mother had said. The look on her face as she stroked her thumb up the bridge of his nose, and across the centre of his brow – a soothing motion she used to make when he was young, when he was sick, when he needed someone to remind him that things weren’t so bad and hopeless in the world – is one he’ll never forget.

 _Because I love him. And when you love someone, you forgive them._ You forgive them. _That’s what it means to give someone everything of yourself and expect nothing in return._

 _That’s what love is._  

How horrifiying, he’d thought, trembling like he might come apart if not for her hands holding him together.

_How terrible, to love someone you’d set yourself on fire just to keep them warm._

 

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

“Hyung, stop _worrying_ , I swear we’ll be fine. You’ve given me like five different numbers to contact in case of an emergency and I’ve got the V-E-T-erinarian on speed dial.”

Because Byeol’s sitting right there, wagging his tail with his big, watchful eyes trained on them, Mingyu has to spell the words out, just in case.

“C’mon, how many times have I babysat for you by now?” Mingyu frowns a little, expression verging on a pout. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Wonwoo reassures. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” 

“Then what _are_ you worrying about?” Mingyu demands, tone slipping into a childish lilt, one that’s ready to object, to argue. He’s swaddled in this enormous coat that seems to envelop all six foot plus of him in white fluff. Wonwoo had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to pet him when he opened the door a few mintues ago and saw him standing there pouting in soft distress. 

Wonwoo is self-aware enough to admit to himself in the privacy of his mind that it isn’t _Mingyu_ he’s worried about. All of the reminders and lists he’s meticulously documented for Mingyu as part of Byeol’s care instructions are part of the machinery of a bigger self-defence mechanism. Projection. Diversion. Overthinking things and unravelling them and putting them back together ad nauseam in his head is Wonwoo’s favourite past time after all, willingly or not.

The unspoken truth is that he doesn’t want to go home to Changwon. 

“It’s… about your trip, right?”

There Mingyu goes again with his uncanny awareness of what Wonwoo’s thinking at any given time. It must be Mingyu’s natural thoughtfulness, the way he’s always paying attention, his memory for the little things and passing minutiae that other people would overlook.

Mingyu’s brow furrows, concern creasing his handsome face. “I knew there had to be a reason why you haven’t really talked about it.”

And that’s so like Mingyu. To ask, but not to pry, to bring attention to his worry, his concern, while giving Wonwoo the safety of an out.

Wonwoo never talks about his father. With anyone. It’s an unspoken territory with him, unchartered. Everything to do with his father is lost here in this place inside of him that he’s willingly let become wild and overgrown with tangled thorns and weeds and untameable rage.

He doesn’t know how to speak the shame and humiliation of being tied by something as involuntary as blood to this man. This _stranger_ who he grew up idolising, _lionising_ , a man who he once thought he’d grow up to become. The person responsible for so much hurt and suffering, so much unnecessary pain, and anger, and heartache.

Now, the very thought of becoming anything like his father strikes a cord of fear in him that’s so tangible he can feel it beating in him, solid and visceral, like a second pulse. 

“It’s okay.” Mingyu pauses, hesitating, and he looks anguished that he might have unintentionally forced Wonwoo into a position of having to respond. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I don’t.” Wonwoo says without missing a beat. Not unkindly, but Mingyu retreats nonetheless. _No_ , no, don’t do that, he wants to breathe. _You haven’t done anything wrong, it’s me._ It’s me. 

It’s me and my decade of emotional baggage and childhood trauma resurfacing at the idea of a homecoming. Of having to see _him_.

“It’s… been a while since I last spent time with my family. I’m just… anxious, I guess. About what things will be like when I’m home again.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker with sympathy. Sadness. And to someone who calls his mother every week for long phonecalls and always has his baby sister teasing him in his Instagram comments or chattering away on his Kakao, he must seem especially pitiful.

Wonwo doesn’t want to be pitied. That’s _why_ he doesn’t talk about his father. 

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re thinking it’ll be,” Mingyu says slowly, like he’s turning the words around in his head, considering the best way to soothe and comfort. “If it’s really been that long, they’ll probably be too busy being happy about having you home again.”

His mother and his little brother, maybe. But his father? The last time they were in each other’s company, his father had called him a disgrace, an embarrassment to the Jeon name, because he was in love with a man. As if he hadn’t personally dragged their family’s honour through the mud and abandoned them in the middle of it, ashamed and degraded, when they needed him most. As if he wasn’t a testament to why Wonwoo had condemned trust and commitment as the façades of the great conspiracy of enduring love.

“They’re your family, hyung.” Mingyu says, when the silence has lingered too long between them to be comfortable. “Whatever’s happened in the past, what matters is that you’ll be together again. You’ll be home.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know _how_ or where to even begin, and Mingyu looks downright crestfallen as Wonwoo goes to put on his coat and winds his scarf around his neck. When he glances back up at Mingyu, he’s shrunken in on himself in his uncertainty, like it’s his fault that he hasn’t been able to relieve Wonwoo of the burdens that he’s been shouldering for half of his existence. 

“Mingyu.” 

Mingyu toes at the ground, fingers twitching as he fidgets with his sleeves. He doesn’t look up.

“Come here.” 

Mingyu looks up slowly, warily, as if he’s still waiting for Wonwoo to dismiss him, to shut him out. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, simply holds out his hand.

Mingyu inhales, it’s barely noticeable except Wonwoo’s watching him, Wonwoo’s _always_ watching him, and his entire body tenses for a moment, muscles locking and freezing in place as he gazes at Wonwoo with this expression that’s so thickly woven with a dozen different emotions that it’s like staring too long into the sun and feeling the blue-black fuzziness of the sun’s ray creeping around the edges of your vision. There’s a blur of fluffy white coat and then Mingyu’s surging towards him, wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s chest, his face pressed into Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo circles his arms around him slowly, and then tightly, as he holds him close, breathes in his scent of sandalwood and honey cologne, his fabric softener.

Mingyu’s warm, the heat he radiates sinking into Wonwoo’s skin through the layers of his coat and clothes, warming him right down to the skin. 

“Hyung, I’m gonna miss you.” Mingyu mumbles, words muffled by Wonwoo’s shoulder, his hair tickling against Wonwoo’s chin. 

Wonwoo brushes his fingers through the back of Mingyu’s hair lightly, an absentminded gesture, achingly intimate in its lack of conscious purpose. Mingyu shifts, chasing his touch out of a similar instinct and leaning into his hand.

“I know.” Wonwoo says. And it’s okay, this is okay. Because even if Mingyu doesn’t know why he’s hurting and doesn’t know how to fix this particular sadness like he does with everything else that’s broken in Wonwoo’s life from household appliances to electronics, _it’s going to be okay_.

Mingyu’s right, in a way. 

 _Whatever happens, at least he’ll get to come home._ He’ll get to come back here to the home he’s made for himself, to Byeol, to the friends that are more than family.

 _He’ll get to come home to Mingyu._  

"I’ll miss you, too.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

 

The trip down to Changwon takes two hours and thirty-seven minutes by train if there are no delays and no traffic. Wonwoo spends these two hours and thirty-seven minutes suspended in utter misery, tormented by a growing number of _what if_ scenarios that grow increasingly more terrible and traumatic with each new nightmare his mind can conjure up. 

(What if his mom is angry, resentful, and has been secretly holding a grudge all these months because he hasn’t been home for so long? What if, after all this time, she sides with his father? 

 _What if she hates him for not wanting to pretend they’re still one big happy family?_ ) 

He knows he hasn’t been the best son or older brother. He hasn’t called as often as he should. He hasn’t been home in two years. Last time his mom came up from Changwon to visit him in Seoul was eight months ago. Bohyuk had stayed at his apartment for a couple weeks after graduation while sorting out the paperwork for his new apartment but even with him living in Seoul, they don’t speak as often as they should.

It was always Soojin reminding him to call home, Soojin sending gifts to his parents, arranging dinner dates with Bohyuk and his somes and girlfriends. Soojin, the perfect future daughter-in-law that he was no longer with. 

And now his little brother is getting engaged and Wonwoo is the single, significant other-less eldest son with nothing to show for himself. 

He’s prepared for the countless offers to be set up with daughters and cousins and family friends he’ll no doubt receive now that he’s unattached to a girlfriend or clandestine boyfriend ( _The Bachelor: Changwon’s_ very own homecoming episodes). The invitations to blind dates with prospective girlfriends made with overly cheerful smiles and shallow intentions. 

Wonwoo’s family didn’t come from money, but his father was industrious, and brilliant. He’d taken the family business and made it successful and unforseeably prosperous. He’d made the kind of money that was unheard of in Changwon for a man with no name, Changwon with its port city ambitions and thriving industrial complex. It was one of the reasons why Wonwoo had admired him so much. 

A self-made man. One who’d built himself from nothing.

The same man who’d protected his own reputation and ego over his wife and family when the scandal of his infidelities broke.

His mother doesn’t understand bisexuality but she wants the best for him, and Wonwoo gets it. As with most sensitive, unmentionable things, they don’t talk about it. The topic of Wonwoo’s sexuality is like the fine china and silverware kept on display in the family home – better left untouched. Too fragile to be handled out in the open.

Now that Bohyuk is engaged he isn’t sure where she stands on the ‘My firstborn son is occasionally interested in dating and being with men’ front. 

When he arrives outside the new apartment (they’d moved a couple years ago, during the years of Wonwoo and his father’s impasse), he has to ask for directions at the front gate for which building he’s looking for.

The entire complex is lavish and elegantly constructed. Of course, the Jeons live in the penthouse of the largest building. What with his father being the CEO of the architecture firm responsible for constructing the luxury neighbourhood complex and all. He calls his mother when he’s in the elevator, just in case she isn’t home and expecting him.

She doesn’t pick up, but when he arrives on the twentieth floor, she’s there, standing in the doorway, eyes looking misty as she braces herself with a sharp intake of breath.

“ _Wonwoo-yah_.”

He’s a terrible son. An awful son. He should’ve visited sooner, should’ve called more often, should’ve spent more time with her regardless of the man she shared this home with –

She darts forwards, arms opening to gather him up in a hug and he meets her halfway, burying his face into her neck and breathing in the smell of her perfume, vanilla and jasmine, her perfectly coiffed hair tickling his cheeks.

“ _It’s so good to finally have you home_ , _I missed you, I missed you_ so much.”

 _This_ is what he came to Changwon for. Fuck his father.

Wonwoo wraps his arms tightly around his mom, the warmth and gentleness of her embrace the only homecoming he’s ever needed.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Bohyuk shows up an hour or so later with his fiancé. Wonwoo has never been more thankful to have a younger brother because at the hour mark of conversation and catching his mother up with the past few months of his life, she’d started dancing around the topic of Ha Sooyoung. The daughter of one of his mother’s old college friends from Busan, young and pretty and the talk of the town as a professional model and dancer .

As much as he loves his mom, the thought of sitting through yet another disastrous blind date set up by well-meaning mothers with ulterior motives sounds like Wonwoo’s own personal version of hell.

Bohyuk’s fiancé, Chaeyoung, is delightful. Charming. Funny. Sweet. In other words: the complete opposite of Wonwoo’s baby brother. He has no idea how Bohyuk managed to convince this girl to marry him. 

Wonwoo’s mother insists that they all have dinner together with a homecooked meal, and Chaeyoung immediately volunteers to help in the kitchen. Wonwoo follows, out of sheer instinct, he’s so accustomed to being Mingyu’s sous chef it doesn’t occur to him that he’s not needed in the kitchen until his mother glances up at him from the ricecooker with a soft laugh.

“When did you suddenly become so interested in cooking?”

Wonwoo does _not_ blush, he doesn’t. He murmurs something vague and noncommittal about learning a few recipes here and there in his spare time.

His mom keeps an eye on him as he chops radishes and carrots, and he can feel her scrutinising gaze on him the entire time he has a knife in his hand. 

 _You don’t have to worry about me_ , he wants to say. _Mingyu showed me how to use a knife properly, I know: fingers tucked in, knuckles always facing the blade._

But that would raise the question of who _Mingyu_ is and that’s not a conversation Wonwoo wants to have right now. Not when things are going so well and he has to spend another four days here.

It’s Bohyuk who brings up the topic of their father, his question about whether or not he’ll make it in time for dinner harmlessly casual.

Wonwoo’s mom waves him off, turning back to stirring her famous gamjatang, Wonwoo’s favourite. There’s bulgogi and galbi and spicy braised chicken – it seems everything being served tonight is Wonwoo’s favourite. Wonwoo doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that his mother’s been preparing all day for a feast for his arrival while he’s been anticipating the absolute worst of her. Guilty, mostly. 

He helps Bohyuk and Chaeyoung set the table, watches them tease and banter back and forth with the humour of schoolchildren but the familiarity and playfulness of an old married couple. Bohyuk had been chased out of the kitchen for being more of a disturbance than a help, exiled into the living room to wait. 

Dinner passes without any mention of Wonwoo’s father, his seat at the head of the table left empty. Chaeyoung starts telling a funny story about a unfortunate workplace misunderstanding with her boss. Midway through, Wonwoo gets a Kakao notification. He slides his phone out of his pocket surreptitiously to glance at the screen. It’s Mingyu.

 

 

 **mingyu >>>  wonwoo-hyung**  
hey hyung! how’s changwon going? how’s the weather? have you eaten yet?  
byeol and i just had dinner  
[Image attachment]

 

 

There’s a picture of Mingyu seated at the table in his apartment with a candlelit dinner laid out before him, wine glass and bottle in the frame, everything filtered through the red-gold of glowing embers. Byeol is in the chair opposite with a large restaurant napkin tied around his neck like a bib and what looks like _very expensive steak_ cut into puppy-size pieces on the plate before him. 

Wonwoo has to physically fight the urge to smile, but it’s a battle lost before it can even be fought, the touch of sun-warm heat spreading through his chest to the curves of his ribs, reaching on tip-toe to skim the corners of his lips.

 

 

 **wonwoo  
**it’s going well. i’m having dinner right now with my mom, bohyuk and his fiancé

 

 **mingyu**  
oooh nice  
what’s she like? i bet she’s really awesome

 

 **wonwoo**  
she’s sweet and nice and very funny. they seem perfect for each other  
what makes you say that though? you’ve never even met her

 

 **mingyu**  
idk seems like you jeons have good taste  
byeol was raised so well (perfect amazing 11 out of all possible 10s) i’m guessing soojin-ssi was pretty awesome

 

 **wonwoo  
**speaking of, how’s the little devil?

 

 **mingyu**  
good! excellent  
he misses you A Lot

 

 **wonwoo  
**Liar

 

 **mingyu  
**well i miss you enough for the both of us, how’s that?

 

 

“Anyway, if Wonwoo could stop sneaking secret smiles at his phone long enough to join in on the conversation, he’d definitely agree with me.” 

Wonwoo’s head snaps up, sheepish look darting across his face. “Sorry, what was that?” 

“Chaeyoung and I were disagreeing about whether or not we should invite our exes to the wedding,” Bohyuk says.

“To the _engagement party_ , maybe,” Chaeyoung counters. “But the wedding? Isn’t that going to be weird?”

“You’d invite Soojin-noona to your wedding, right, hyung?” 

“What?” Wonwoo echoes, lost in the midst of the conversation.

“You still talk to her, don’t you?” Bohyuk reasons. “You said you ended on good terms and everything.”

“That’s different.” Chaeyoung cuts in. “I know you’re still friends with Moonbin but it’s going to be awkward enough having to deal with seeing Hyejin at the party.”

“Besides,” Wonwoo’s mom says. “Wonwoo has different reasons for staying in touch with Soojin. Isn’t that right, Wonwoo?”

Everyone at the table turns at once to face Wonwoo. His mother and Bohyuk have matching smiles, sly and knowing and apparently in on some joke Wonwoo isn’t aware of. 

“Soojin and I are just friends,” he says mechanically, voice stiff. He’s usually better at lying than this. “And Jeonbok, I think if your fiancé isn’t comfortable with having your exes at the engagement party you should listen to her. She’s clearly got all the brains in your relationship.” 

“ _Thank_ you.” Chaeyoung gloats triumphantly.

“Hyung, how could you say that? You’ve known Chaeyoung-ah for like two minutes, you’re my _blood_.”

“She’s basically family already. And two minutes is long enough to for me to decide she’s officially my favourite dongsaeng.”

Bohyuk huffs, making a show of being wounded as Chaeyoung giggles and slaps at his arm. It’s agonisingly cute.

Wonwoo puts his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the way he can hear the words reverberating in his head in Mingyu’s voice.

 _well i miss you enough for the both of us, how’s that?_  

 

 

\-----

 

  

The engagement party is on the third day of Wonwoo’s trip back home. And he manages to prolong seeing his father until the night of the actual engagement party. Which is impressive on both his, and his father’s, part.

Wonwoo’s inherited more than just his father’s features and jawline, he’s also inherited his serial workaholic tendencies and poor work-life balance. It’s only because it’s for his favourite son’s engagement party that the great Jeon Jaeeun would take the weekend off.

On the second day he’s home, while whirlwind preparations are going around him and Chaeyoung and his mother are gathered in the living area like it’s a war room and they’re preparing for battle and not the engagement party of the century (at least as far as the city of Changwon is concerned), Wonwoo entertains the idea of going to his father’s office to see him. 

It’s only very briefly, and he dismisses it the second it happens. 

 _What would he even say?_ Hey, dad. It’s me. Your disgraced eldest son. 

 _Home from Seoul and here to remind you what a giant failure I am in your eyes even though I have every right to fucking hate you and never want to see you again._  

The truth is that he and his father and never going to reconcile. Wonwoo knows enough about human nature, about _his father_ , to understand that much. The idea that he’s going to sit down with his father and lay everything out on the table and somehow have a heart-to-heart that’s been a decade in the making and miraculously set everything right with him is absurd. Foolish.

It’s the kind of fantasy that Wonwoo has no use for indulging in. In his father’s eyes, he’s a filthy, unfilial homosexual who tarnished the family name by daring to love men. 

In his eyes, his father is a lying, cheating scumbag king asshole who came crawling home and was forgiven by his family, his wife, but not by Wonwoo.

Wonwoo can’t apologise for wanting to be with a man any more than his father is going to apologise for the years of grief and suffering he put their family through, for making him feel shame and humiliation for something he couldn’t control, for teaching him how to hate himself.

So, no. Wonwoo’s never going to make the first move to fix things. And neither is his father. Some things can’t be fixed, and perhaps there’s a part of him, the prodigious architect, who already knows that.

On the night of the engagement party, the weather is perfect, warm with a light breeze coming in from the harbour, but Wonwoo feels like he’s about to sweat right through his finely tailored suit. He’s here to celebrate his little brother and his lovely fiancé, but the idea of seeing his father again after all the bad blood and grief between them makes him want to shove all his things back into his suitcase and get on an express train back to Seoul.

It’s somehow worse that everyone who’s been invited to Bohyuk and Chaeyoung’s engagement party knows Wonwoo.

Old school friends, family friends, distant relatives. Wonwoo does the rounds, fitting perfectly back into the role of model son, the ideal brother and hyung. Some of his old schoolmates are married, a few have already settled down with kids. Their tiny faces beam up at him from the pictures they slide out of their wallets, miniature badges of pride and love. 

Wonwoo smiles, sipping at his second glass of champagne. He asks all the right questions, says all the right things. Jokes and teases with the people that used to make up his whole life once upon a time, and fields the enquiring, prying intentions of cousins and aunties and uncles. 

A twenty-seven year old bachelor with a stable professional career in the city, a well-off family, handsome, unmarried with no children at this age? Wonwoo should’ve realised that he’d be the talk of the party.

 _The prodigal son returned home._ Everyone loves a good story, after all, a story that comes wrapped in salacious gossip laced with intrigue and possibility. 

There are rumours, Wonwoo knows – old ones, but still – about why he left Changwon and never returned save for once or twice during Chuseok.

He answers every question thrown at him with the same genial, easy-going smile and tries to mean it, but the alcohol can only do so much.

_“Big hotshot detective home from the city! How’s Seoul? The girls must be really gorgeous, huh? I hear they’re all so tall and beautiful they could be models.”_

_“How about that girlfriend that you brought home a couple years ago? We haven’t seen her around in ages. You should bring her back here again!”_

_“Hey what happened to Soojin-ssi? I figured you would’ve married her by now!”_

_“Ah, you’re single? Have you met my niece?”_

_“Maybe a nice Gyeongsangnam-do girl will catch your eye and you’ll move back home. Wouldn’t that be great?”_

_“No girlfriend? A shame for such a handsome young man.”_

_“What’s so good about Seoul anyway? You name me one thing Seoul has that Changwon couldn’t do better!”_

By the fifth glass of champagne, Wonwoo’s tired and feeling homesick in a city that used to be the only home he ever knew. It’s disorienting, being surrounded by all these people that used to be someone to him but are nothing more than strangers now. Stranger that feel entitled to him and the pieces of his life they don’t _really_ care to know the truth of as long as they have all the thrilling, sensationalised details. 

He checks his phone and answers some messages from Soonyoung and the group chat, pretends to look very serious and engaged in his texts in the hopes that no one else will approach him to no avail.

Mingyu’s sent him two more pictures. One is another selfie, this time a post-workout picture, utterly demonic and flashing a boyish V-sign in the mirror of the changing rooms, sweat slicking his forehead as he grins into his reflection. His arms, shoulders _and_ collarbones are all exposed in an unholy trinity of glistening clarity.

The second is a picture of him and Byeol, Byeol perched in Mingyu’s lap and peering at the screen with his big puppy eyes. Mingyu’s lips are pursed as if the picture had been taken mid-kiss.

 

 

 **mingoo**  
i know you’re not gonna send me a postcard  
because you’ll complain that you’re only gone for 5 days and ‘what’s the point, i’ll be home before you know it’ so i won’t even ask  
instead i’m sending you a picture of me so you’ll feel obliged to send me one of you in changwon

[Image attachment]

hope you’re having fun ♥  
p.s. byeol says hi

[Image attachment]

and look at his lil face ofc he misses you  
remember to stay warm  
♥ ♥ ♥

 

 

Chaeyoung catches his eye from across the dancefloor when he’s about to be hounded by an especially persistent auntie and saves him from another round of “Have you met my daughter/niece/second cousin/distant relative of eligible age?” 

“ _Thank you._ ” Wonwoo gasps breathlessly from the corner of the large floral decoration they’ve hidden behind. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to spend another second trying to explain why I’m not going to go down on one knee and propose to her niece on the first date no matter how attractive and accomplished she is.” 

“It’s alright.” Chaeyoung grins, her cheeks flushing prettily and the crown of flowers woven into her curled hair tilted charmingly off-center. “We’re family now, and family means no one gets left behind. Or forgotten.”

“A girl who quotes Disney at me in my time of need.” Wonwoo smiles, the first real smile all night. “Maybe you married the wrong Jeon.”

Chaeyoung laughs, nudging him in the shoulder. She doesn’t seem to care, or notice, that her dress is being crushed where they’re crouched on the ground. “That’s sweet of you to say. But even if Bohyuk or your mom can’t tell, I know your heart is elsewhere.” 

Wonwoo blinks, surprise flickering through him like a spark of static. “You do?” 

“Sure.” Chaeyoung gazes serenely back at him. “Judging by the number of times you’ve glanced at your phone when you thought no one was looking, there’s definitely someone waiting for you back in Seoul.”

Wonwoo’s face goes carefully blank as he considers how to word his defence. “It’s a friend. That’s all. I – we’re very close.”

“Uhuh,” Chaeyoung says. “A friend that’s been texting you non-stop and telling you how much they missed you when you’ve only been gone for three days?”

Wonwoo freezes. How did she see that? Did he accidentally leave his phone unlocked on Mingyu’s messages? What did she see –

Chaeyoung lets out a chuckle, petting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Relax. It was just a lucky guess. But I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Wonwoo tries very hard not to gape at his future sister-in-law. “You should come work for the SMPA. We could use eyes as sharp as yours in the city.” 

“I'm flattered,” Chaeyoung answers, lips curling into a smile. “But I’m happy here.”

Right, Wonwoo remembers, a wave of chagrin washing over him, suddenly embarrassed for raising something that might be a touchy subject for her. Chaeyoung and Bohyuk had met in Seoul, while he was studying at a SKY university. They’d both had their whole lives ahead of them there before Bohyuk had decided to come home to become the heir of his father’s company and take up the mantle of the family business. 

“You don’t… feel like you’re giving something up?” Wonwoo says before he can stop himself. He holds back a wince. The alcohol is making him too honest, his usual adroitness with words blunted. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chaeyoung’s quiet for a moment, and if she’s taken aback by Wonwoo’s candour it doesn’t show. 

“It’s alright, I mean, I get it. I’m a young, twenty-something woman who’s got her whole life ahead of her. I had a career in Seoul. All of my friends are still there.” The corner of her mouth lifts, bittersweet. “I was raised by a single mother. Growing up, I swore to myself I’d never be one of those people who dropped everything for their significant other and let their whole lives revolve around their marriage.”

Wonwoo thinks of his mother, married to his father at twenty-two with half a medical degree. She had him a year later and never returned to study at the best medical school in the country. What would her life be like now if she’d never met him? If she’d never chosen love over the rest of her life? 

“Moving to Changwon and uprooting my whole life to be with your brother might not be what I would’ve chosen for myself but he… he makes me glad that I did. And even though I might regret certain things I’ve sacrificed to be here, I’ll never regret choosing _him_.” Chaeyoung smiles, her cheeks lightly flushed and her eyes curving into little half-moons. “Whatever else happens in the future, good or bad, I know I’m going to keep choosing him for the rest of my life. Bohyuk… he makes he happy. He makes me feel like the whole world – like I finally _get_ why I’m here.”

And she really, truly looks it. _Happy._ The softness in her eyes glows with affection – the same sweetness that Soojin used to look at him with when they talked about their future. 

There’s a thick, suffocating feeling lodging in his throat, keeping him from drawing a steady breath. And Wonwoo doesn’t know why it wants to call itself regret because he doesn’t, _he’s not regretful_ about the choices he’s made in life. He let Soojin go. He let her leave. It’s not her fault he’s here, alone, being forced to act the part of someone he’s never been, never _wanted_ to be. He’s fine with being alone. He chose this. 

“I’m glad.” Wonwoo says, blinking rapidly against the tide of selfish, ugly misery sinking fast in the middle of his gut like an anchor, a shipwreck. “I’m — really happy for you. The both of you. I really. I hope you two will always have that happiness.” 

“Thanks, Wonwoo.” Chaeyoung beams, her face lit up with the kind of joy that only the certainty of love, of knowing exactly where you want to be tonight and every night for the rest of your future, can bring. “That means a lot coming from you.” 

_Thanks, hyung. That means a lot._

Wonwoo staggers to his feet, the world swaying dangerously around him as he attempts to steady himself. The millions of lights draped like a canopy across the ceiling of the harbourfront venue spin and whirl like a carousel. 

(Why does he keep hearing _his_ voice when he isn’t even thinking about him?)

“Are you okay?” Chaeyoung asks, brow furrowed in worry.

“I’ll be fine.” Wonwoo waves her off, the liquor seeping sluggishly into his veins making him feel heavy and light-headed all at once. “Don’t let me keep you from your night.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Chaeyoung bows her head softly. “And Wonwoo… I hope you find your happiness, too. Even if it’s not here.” 

“Thank you.” There’s a half-hearted attempt at a smile on his face. “Now, you’d better go find Bohyuk before he lets our uncles drink him under the table.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Wonwoo gets drunk. Drunker than he should be at a celebration that is technically still a formal family event.

He’s half-slumped over at the bar, staring into an empty champagne glass wondering why he’s done this to himself when someone clears their throat beside him. 

It’s a man. Someone from high school’s friend or plus one that he greeted in passing but promptly forgot the name of. He’s attractive, tall, but not really Wonwoo’s type. Wonwoo’s type is – _big, cute eyes, a smile that feels like the sun on your face, tall_ tall _a couple inches taller than him at least, broad shoulders and big arms but so soft_ –

“Hey. Wonwoo, right?”

The man smells like citrus and sea salt and its all wrong in an infinite number of ways. 

Wonwoo doesn’t need to hear anything else. But he plays along with the set-up, the game, the prelude to the main event; he says the right things and smiles at the right places and it’s all very standard, a textbook drunken rendezvous. 

They end up back at Wonwoo’s place, the man’s hands skimming the edge of his shirt and tugging it loose from his pants so he can splay his fingers against his bare stomach. The touch of skin against skin sends a shudder down his spine. The ripple effect of desire setting off a chain reaction through his body, his mind lulled into quiet by the pulse of want in his chest.

 _Make me stop thinking_ , he begs with fingers tangling in soft hair. _Help me forget help me forget everything just for a night,_ his hands say ( _god,_ please), cupping the stranger’s jaw so he can lick into his mouth, the kiss turning wet and desperate.

The man presses him down onto the couch, stroking softly across the skin of Wonwoo’s hips, his hand broad and warm with long, slender fingers. Each touch makes Wonwoo want to disappear inside of himself, ashamed for doing this and electrified by the disastrous cocktail of mortification and longing and wrongness. It’s been so long for him his body doesn’t know how to go slow. It’s all sharp, frantic hunger in his head and this is —  _this is all wrong_.

It’s the way that the man looks at him that makes him stop, mid-breath, his chest panting around the knot growing and twisting in his ribs.

“Are you okay?” The stranger asks him in the quietness and the dark. His hands linger at Wonwoo’s hips, gentle and light enough for Wonwoo to jerk right out of his grip if he wanted to. Even in the shadows, the man’s concern is palpable; it cuts right through the wave of lust and heat coiling in Wonwoo’s stomach like ice. It’s the look in his eyes, the kindness— the _gentleness_ that Wonwoo finds there when he hasn’t asked for it— that stops him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

 _I don’t deserve this._ I don’t want it. Why couldn’t you _just_  — 

The man is still staring at him, eyes wide and vulnerable, worry and puppyish fear that he’s done something wrong, that he’s hurt Wonwoo somehow or crossed some kind of line and it looks – it looks exactly like – 

“I have to —  _I have to get out of here_ — ” 

Wonwoo shoves the man’s hands away and he goes, willingly. Flinching back like he’s been burned and Wonwoo’s fingertips are still singed with ash. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. _I’m sorry._ Are you okay? I didn’t meant to scare you off like that — ”

Wonwoo stumbles to his feet, his shirt hanging open and his jacket forgotten somewhere, and starts for the door before he can even look back. His head is pounding, his chest feels like it’s going to split right open down his sternum and he has no idea anymore, what the fuck he’s doing or thinking, he just knows he needs to get the fuck out of here. 

And then, because this is Wonwoo’s life and it’s one cruel joke the universe is gambling on at his expense, the door to the apartment swings open to reveal his father.

He knows what this must look like. And for once he doesn’t disagree with the disgust and horror and revulsion that must twist at his father’s face. He doesn’t wait to see what it looks like, doesn’t wait to see his father glancing first at the stranger in their house and then at his degenerate, depraved wreck of a son, and simply walks past his father and out the door.

 

 

\-----

 

 

He goes where people go when they think no one wants to find them: the sealine and the shore. It’s the beginning of Autumn and the cold is unforgiving this close to the ocean but Wonwoo doesn’t care.

He’s always run cold, he’s always _been_ cold. Tonight is no different from any other. And maybe, maybe this is how things should be. 

He walks down to the sand, and sits just beyond the highest point of the tide, curling his arms around his knees. The sound of the sea should be soothing but the quiet only makes his thoughts louder, and his head is always full of reasons to hate himself.

All his life, he’s been _fine_. Not great – with certain brief flashes of happiness here and there – but fine. Content. He’s done his part, done everything expected of him, fulfilled the Role of the person he’s supposed to be.

And sometimes it feels like he’s just here, temporarily, doing his best to fill in the parts of this life that are his and people around him are going about their lives, falling in love, _real love_ , getting married, settling down, finding what happiness means to them and chasing it, breathing it, and he’s just – _he’s here_. Not miserable or unhappy just… _here_. Existing. Living because he’s it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

And it’s fine because this is his armour, this is how he never has to lose something. He lets people go (because they would’ve stayed if they loved him enough, and it’s _not enough_ , he isn’t –) and then he’s alone and it’s exactly how he wants it. This is the life he’s made for himself and no one but him will ever know the loneliest parts of it.

 _This is how he keeps himself safe_ , he thinks to himself.

It’s the biggest lie he’s ever told. 

The moon gleams, full and bright in the night sky, the shadow its casting into the waves casting everything in a silken silver glow.

There is a man out there looking at the same moon and the same stars in the sky who thinks he loves him. And Wonwoo doesn’t know how to not break his heart when he tells him that he’s wrong. 

That Wonwoo doesn’t deserve the love he thinks he feels.

And eventually, he’ll realise Wonwoo’s right. Because Wonwoo has made a science of pretending to live, he has made an art out of doing all the right things and saying all the right things and keeping himself alone. _Fine._

The reality is he’s hollow, and all the interesting quirks and so-called personality traits he’s gathered around himself so he can act like he’s a person, like he’s someone _real_ , are just distractions from the truth. This person he is, isn’t complete, and perhaps that’s not all on him. 

Maybe it’s something flawed in his makeup. Everything just _not enough._  

His skin feels like the universe leaking starlight into the void, his ribs and bones like crushed meteorites and fragments of dark matter. Everything too much and too hollow, and this terrible urge to pick himself apart, to set alight to everything he’s done and said and scatter the ashes to the wind and sea. He is so undeserving, so _hollow_ , he wonders how people don’t see it when they look at him. He wonders how they don’t see the hairline fractures running along his veins, a map of all the things in him that are inadequate.

Love is meant to be patient, love is kind. Unconditional. But what if – and Wonwoo’s life rests on the fine, precarious balance between interminable chaos and all the _what if’s_ ; what if this is all wrong, what if I’m doing everything wrong what if this isn’t supposed to be who I am what if I never stop fucking feeling like this – _what if_ love is meant to be unconditional but you don’t even have the patience or kindness to stand being _you_.

He’s gotten so good at faking what it means to be a whole person that he’d forgotten that there are things you can’t pretend. 

He thinks of the woman he thought he was going to marry sometimes. He thinks of the people he’s dated and loved and left. He thinks about how he had the chance to ask them to _stay_ but let them go because he didn’t want to hear the answer in their silence.

He thinks about how sick he gets of himself, and can’t imagine ever wanting someone to make the choice between him and eternity.

Out here in the quiet of the sea and the night, with nobody but the stars listening to him, he can admit it:

he got so used to being alone that the idea of someone loving him enough to stay makes him want to run

but he’s tired of being alone, tired of having his loneliness be the single constant in his life

_he’s tired_

_he’s so tired of being alone_.

 

 

\-----

 

 

The moon is slowly slipping into the blue of early twilight when he arrives home. The stars have been quieter, and perhaps they pity him, too, Wonwoo thinks. He still has the smell of sea salt curling in his lungs.

He pads soundlessly barefoot into the house, places his shoes in the cupboard and goes to head to his room ( _his_ room is technically just another guest room but his mom, being sentimental and holding out for her firstborn to come home eventually when he was done being a terrible son, had arranged it exactly the way he’d left it back at their old house) when he hears a rustle from the living room. 

His heart nearly vaults out of his chest. His mom is sitting in the dark, a cup of tea gone ice cold on the coffee table, _waiting for him_.

“Mom.”

It’s worse than feeling like a teenager being caught sneaking out. He feels like every one of his twenty-seven years of life. An adult, a grown man, crawling home in red-handed shame.

“ _Mom_ ,” Wonwoo says again when she doesn’t reply. The worry thickening in his throat as he comes to a stop by the outskirts of their living room. The space is so large and excessively extravagant that he can stand nearly thirty feet away from her and still be in the same room.

His mom is still staring straight ahead, gaze fixed and unwavering. She looks tired, still beautiful and elegant but _worn_ , exhausted.

Wonwoo draws closer to the lounge she’s sitting on, fearful of what this is and what’s happening right now but pressing forwards nonetheless because _that’s his mom_.

The only sound, the only movement, is the small, slow inhale she draws from her chest. 

“I should have protected you.” 

In the dark, it’s an awful, secret disclosure of a confession.

No matter how old Wonwoo gets, nothing will ever prepare him for the swiftness and suddenness his mother can render him helpless with a single sentence.

“What are you talking about?”

“ _I should have protected you_ ,” she echoes, her hands clasped delicately in her lap begin to tremble. “From everything. Your father. The scandal. His reaction when you — when you came to us.”

 It’s funny how you can spend you whole life – your formative years, the rough, complicated growing pains of adolescenece and young adulthood, and finally the years of becoming your own whole person – longing to have these kinds of conversations with your parents then when you finally do, your mind goes blank, all the things you’ve never been allowed to say suddenly wiped like a clean slate.   

“I feel like I’ve failed you somehow, Wonwoo-yah.” She whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” 

His mom looks at him, at last, and her eyes are red-rimmed, glassy. 

And what is he supposed to say? It’s not her fault. It’s not her responsibility to shoulder the blame for how his life ended up, her human failings as a person don’t translate to her capabilities as a parent, _he gets it now_ , he gets it because the moment you stop being a child is when you realise your parents are just people, like you, like anyone else who fucks up and makes mistakes sometimes. His own private dysfunctions and anxieties and constant struggle with being a person aren’t her fault and it’d be beyond childish to lay his own failures at her feet.

How does he explain that he feels unstuck out of time, that he’s been watching his own life go by in front of his eyes as he other people live their lives and find happiness and comfort with each other but he feel like he’s still that kid watching his whole idea of love and trust and family destroyed with one night of stupid, human recklessness. 

How does he tell her that he’s not _sad_ or miserable or angry anymore because it’s a struggle to feel anything at all.

He’s been fleetingly miserable and heartbroken while he was here in Changwon but those are temporary feelings and soon he’ll be back to baseline, with no one and nothing in his life because that’s the way he’s always told himself he wanted it.

He was an adult when he came out to his parents. He was old enough to understand that his father’s ignorance and his mother’s silence weren’t an invalidation of _who_ he is. It hurt, it hurt to know the two people who raised him couldn’t stand by him, couldn’t be proud of him for finding the courage and self-worth to be honest about this part of himself with them. But he understood them for their flaws and imperfections, and some part of him has always loved them anyway.

He’s learned by now that forgiveness isn’t a weakness. Sometimes it’s a mercy.

Wonwoo crosses the distance between them and kneels on the couch beside his mother, wraps his arms around her and lets her bury her face in his shoulder. Her frame shakes as he holds her, her tears staining his shirt like saltwater.

He brushes the tear tracks from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb, the way she’s done for him so many times when he was a child. 

“You’ve always loved me.” Wonwoo says, levelling his gaze on hers. Seeing his own eyes staring back at him, like a looking-glass shimmering with veiled tears. “Even when I felt… let down. Or disappointed. I always knew you loved me.” 

“I should’ve fought for you harder,” she breathes, voice trembling and unsteady. “I should’ve _said_ something – ” 

“It wasn’t your fight to fight. _His_ mistakes are not yours.” 

 _You’ve suffered enough because of him_ , Wonwoo thinks as he watches his mother cry. _You’ve done enough._

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be,” she says softly. It’s almost like a dream, he might even still be dreaming somewhere fast asleep on the shore. “But you’ve always been so capable of being your own person, of living the way you knew you wanted to.” 

Wonwoo can feel his own eyes growing warm, his vision going fuzzy at the edges. She lifts a hand to stroke at his cheekbone.

In the moonlight, his mother’s face is shadowed half in a blue-tinged dark, her silhouette carved out in a soft glow. She looks like she might cry again, her jaw tightening like she’s holding it back. And then she draws in a small, firm breath.

“I’m proud of you, Wonwoo-yah. I should’ve said that sooner.” 

It breaks something in him, splintering right through the miles of cold and the walls fortified around him that he’s been building higher and higher for so long with nothing but sheer resilience and a _need_ , a desperation to be unbreakable. He’s lost so much time wondering what his life would be like if he wasn’t.

 

  

\-----

 

 

In the end, his departure from Changwon is as uneventful as his arrival. He leaves early the next morning. Kisses his mother’s cheek and promises to be back next year for Chuseok. Leaves a note for Bohyuck and Chaeyoung wishing them all the best.

He doesn’t see or speak to his father again.

Wonwoo sleeps the entire train ride home, deeper and sounder than he had back in his own makeshift room in his family’s shiny new penthouse.

Through the window, Changwon grows smaller and smaller until its just a dot of blue on the horizon.

 

 

\-----

 

 

A week after Wonwoo’s back from Changwon, Mingyu takes him to a fancy restaurant in Gangnam. He’s wearing a black jacket and black jeans and he’s done his hair in this artless, ruffled style but Wonwoo can’t focus on anything other than the tiny, dainty silver necklace dangling from his neck. He feels underdressed, but then he always feels underdressed around Mingyu.

Mingyu compliments him nonetheless, as is routine. He’s as fond of giving praise as he is of receiving it.

 _You’re good at this, hyung_ , when he peers over Wonwoo’s shoulder at the FPS game Wonwoo’s been in entrenched in for over an hour. _You could even go pro, hyung, like Faker._

 _Hey, hyung, you have a really nice voice, did you know that?_ After Mingyu catches him humming to himself absent-mindedly.

 _Wonwoo-hyung, you look very handsome tonight._  

It shouldn’t affect Wonwoo the way it does. He’s confident in his appearance, his interests and abilities, even his quirks. He doesn’t _need_ the spoken or physical validation of others to know that. But the way Mingyu gives compliments, so easily and endlessly, it makes him feel like he’s standing beneath a spotlight. And the way Mingyu looks at him… it’s like he’s been standing in the shade his entire life watching other people be alive, watching them _live_ , and he’s feeling the sun on his face for the first time.

Mingyu spends an inordinate amount of time taking pictures for his Instagram or filming for his story update. 

Tonight, however, he doesn’t make any move to take his phone out for selfies or ask Wonwoo to photograph him even though he’s dressed impeccably in a coat that looks like it cost a couple hundred thousand won and makes him seem taller than ever. 

He pays attention to all of Wonwoo’s anecdotes from home without reaching for his phone. It’d be almost unnevering, having Mingyu’s sole focus and attention on him for such a length of time if Wonwoo didn’t know it was simply because Mingyu missed him. He’s said as much in his texts and out loud, greeting Wonwoo with a tight hug when he’d swung by after dropping his things off in his apartment.

Wonwoo doesn’t mention what happened on the night of Bohyuck and Chaeyoung’s engagement, or the morning after.

Maybe because he doesn’t want to ruin the mood and the warm contentment on Mingyu’s face that has yet to dim the entire time they’ve been at dinner. Maybe because, if he’s being honest with himself, that night could so easily have been avoided if he wasn’t such a coward, if he could just _tell_ the man sitting across from him the things he needed to say.

Mingyu says goodbye to Wonwoo outside his apartment with a promise to text him about dinner next week at his house.

An hour later, as Wonwoo’s getting ready for bed, his phone chimes with a notification. It’s an Instagram notification, specifically a notification for  _Mingyu’s_ Instagram. Only because Wonwoo doesn’t actually use the app in the first place and there’s no point being active on it when he’s only keeping up to date with one person. 

The notifications are practical, that’s all.

He flicks open his screen to see Mingyu’s update. It’s a picture of himself taken in Wonwoo’s house, he’s wearing the clothes he’d been wearing the day after Wonwoo got back from Changwon when they’d had takeout because Wonwoo didn’t want Mingyu to cook after he’d been out all evening on a late-night call.

Mingyu’s smiling at the screen, serving his usual amount of face and attractiveness, but it’s the background that catches at his breath and tangles in his throat making it suddenly hard to breathe. In the background, Wonwoo is asleep on his couch with Byeol cradled in his arms also fast asleep.

Mingyu’s caption is short and finished off by a puppy and crescent moon emoji at the end:

 

 **min9yu_k**   just catching up with my two favourite people in the world. i missed you to the moon and back

 

\-----

 

 

“So, aren’t you going to tell me how much you missed me?” The sound of a light, velveteen laugh, like music, bright and bell-like even through the speaker.

“Who says I missed you?” Wonwoo teases, hitching his shoulder up so he can anchor his phone while he marks the page of his book. 

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going to act all cool on me now.” Soojin says, her tone playful and scolding. “It’s only been eight months, Wonwoo. Barely even a year.”

“A lot can change in a year,” Wonwoo muses. “Maybe I’m still broken-hearted and resentful about you leaving and being aloof and nonchalant about everything is my way of distancing myself from the pain.”

“Okay, Mr. Byronic Edgelord Fitzwilliam Heathcliffe. As if a break-up could ever stop you from being the indomitable Jeon Wonwoo. Did you forget I can see right through you? You couldn’t be nonchalant or aloof about anything if you tried.” 

“We dated for too long; you know too much about me. I don’t know if I feel comfortable knowing that there’s someone out there with this much power over me.”

Soojin laughs again, and it’s still one of Wonwoo’s favourite sounds in the world. That much hasn’t changed. 

“It’s good to hear your voice,” Soojin says. 

“I’m sorry I don’t call more often.” A pause, a flicker of bittersweet remorse lingering on his expression that he knows she can still read in his silence even if she can’t see his face. “I’d say you know how I am but that’s no excuse.”

“It’s alright. I mean, that’s my excuse anyway. There’s always so much going on in both of our lives, I’m just glad we promised to stay in touch.” 

It might have been easier, in the beginning, to have hated each other. To have ended on messy, irreversibly broken terms. It might have made missing her hurt less. But Wonwoo’s grateful now, in retrospect, for how they handled it. The maturity, and the foresight, the fondness that’s still there between them, keeping them connected even across continent, a whole world apart.

“So. Tell me, how has everything been these past few months?” Soojin asks, and Wonwoo can picture her leaning forward subconsciously, her eyes dark and curious, forever making you feel like you were the centre of her attention, her sole focus.

Before he can even help himself, the image of Mingyu gazing at him, lashes lowered and a small smile tugging at his face, comes to mind.

“Nothing much.”

“I don’t believe you,” Soojin says. “It’s been months since our last phonecall and you’re trying to tell me nothing or _no one’s_ happened since?” 

“Well, I did buy a new couch.” Wonwoo drawls. “And I’ve read a few new books since we last spoke. Took up jogging occasionally, like once a month. Byeol’s bigger, too.”

Soojin makes a scoffing noise of disbelief. “Jeon Wonwoo, you know what I mean, don’t be a jerk. Do you know how expensive long-distance calls from New York to Seoul are?” 

Wonwoo chuckles under his breath. “Maybe you could be more specific.” 

“What about that _guy_?” Soojin pauses. “ _Mingguk?_ Minhyun? Last time we talked you said he cooked you dinner. That sounded promising.” 

“His name’s Mingyu. And no, I’m not elaborating.”

“I’m using my ex-girlfriend privileges and pulling rank on you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you better than anyone else.” She goes quiet for a moment, her silence filling the air with all the things they left unsaid, things that they never had to say out loud. “Or at least for a very long time, I did. And there’s no use lying to me, let alone to yourself, that that man means nothing more to you than a friend.” 

Wonwoo exhales, the fight in him going out when he hears the unrelenting honesty in her voice. She’s always known how to see through him, to _get through to him_ in spite of all the masks and defences and bullshit he puts up between him and the world. 

“It doesn’t matter if he means more than to me than a friend,” is what he says, at last.

“Why doesn’t it matter?” He can hear the frown in her voice now. 

“Because. We’re friends and that’s all we’re ever going to be. Wanting more than that would be – _selfish_. It’d be wrong. And when you care about someone as _more_ than a friend, you’re supposed to want the best for them.”

“How do you even _know_ what he wants? What if there’s a possibility that he wants the same thing you do?”

Wonwoo’s quick to shut that one down. “It doesn’t matter even if he feels the same way.”

“And there you go again,” Soojin snaps, impatience flickering to the forefront of her sympathy and concern. “Running away from all the reasons that you could be happy when they’re smacking you in the face.” 

That hurts. _It hurts_ like she’s standing right here in front of him. 

It hurts being reminded of why they didn’t work out, and the dark, ugly voice in his head that always manages to find its foothold in his thoughts when he’s at his lowest whispers _you deserve this_. _You deserve to feel like this, for pushing people away, for running, for finding a way to ruin every good thing that happens to you._  

“Is that…” Wonwoo swallows. “Is that how you felt? About us?” 

“ _Wonwoo_ ,” Soojin cries, a plea of defeat and exasperation and surrender in the same breath. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment and when she speaks again, her voice is soft and thick with emotion.

“All I ever wanted was for you to happy.”

And she made him happy. For a very, very long and wondrous time in his life, she made him happier than he thought he had any right to feel.

But they weren’t right for each other, they didn’t fit together in the way of _forever_. That’s not something love can magically make happen.

“Let me ask you this: if you ignored everything about what’s _right_ and what you think you owe him and what he deserves, when you’re with him… 

“Does he make you happy?”

As if it’s as simple as that. As if it could be as easy as thinking of happiness and seeing only _him_ in his head, scrawled in the footnotes of all his stray thoughts and daydreams.

It doesn’t work like that.

 _Life_ doesn’t work like that; it’s not meant to be this simple and easy and uncomplicated. 

But none of these things are the answer to her question. And if Wonwoo were to let himself stop running, if he were to stand still, afraid and out of breath, with the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, in his bloodstream, he can find the shred of adrenaline-charged courage it takes to admit this out loud: 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

 

\-----

 

 

On the day that Wonwoo goes to pick Soojin up from the airport, it doesn’t occur to him even once in the planning that he’d find Mingyu at his place when they arrived home. 

And that’s the beginning and the end of it all — Mingyu becoming such an easy constant in his life, making the spaces Wonwoo leaves behind entirely his, that Wonwoo forgets what it’s like without him around. 

Soojin’s flight is delayed by half an hour, and Wonwoo spends the entire half hour fighting his own mind every time his thoughts stray listlessly to Mingyu.

 _What is Mingyu doing right now? Has he eaten yet? Is he home already?_  

More importantly, _Does he think about Wonwoo when he’s not around like this, too?_  

When he finally sees Soojin coming out through the departure exit, he waves from where he’s standing and she rushes over, grinning, darting forwards to gather him up in a hug.

“I was all ready to complain about how you’ve gotten skinnier and demand that you eat more but you look… _good_.” Soojin huffs with mock dismay, fists propped on her hips.

“It’s good to see you, too, Soojin.” 

“No, I’m serious.” Soojin says. “You look _really_ good. Well-fed, even.”

“You could’ve just said _you look handsomer than ever_ , and left it at that, you know.”

“You don’t need me to tell you that now that you’ve got your hot, younger man to do that for you.” 

Wonwoo groans, sinking his face into his hands. “Please don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ve barely _begun_.” Soojin says, gleefully. Wonwoo steers the trolley for her as they head to the parking lot, and he manages to divert the conversation to Soojin and her girlfriend.

It’s a new relationship, still in the honeymoon stage of first everythings, and she seems genuinely thrilled. _Happy._  

“Okay,” Soojin says, on the motorway leading from the airport to the city. “Enough distractions. You’ve changed the subject for long enough.”

“Subject? What subject?” Wonwoo snarks, just because he can.

“You know what I mean. The Kim Mingyu of it all. I did some thorough Instagram-stalking and he’s _very_... Let’s just say I have no idea how you managed to get him wrapped around your little finger.”

“You _what_?”

“— Honestly, he looks like he should be on magazine covers or billboards or something.”

“He might have done some casual modelling in his university years.” 

“And _why_ haven’t you agreed to have this man’s extremely cute and large babies already?” 

“Because it’s not like that. We’re not – I don’t have to explain this to you.”

“Actually,” Soojin says. “You do. Remember our pact?”

“For the last time, it wasn’t a _pact_ , Soo.”

“Yes, it was,” Soojin insists, an urgency in her eyes. “We promised each other that we were going to do our best not to let this break-up ruin our year. That we were going to try for ‘okay’ at the very least.” 

“And I’m okay. At the very least, I can say _that_.”

“But he makes you more than okay, doesn’t he?” Soojin’s always been better than him at saying the things he’s thinking but too afraid to say out loud. “You said as much that time on the phone.” 

Wonwoo goes very still. “Oh, _shit_.” 

“Please tell me you’re not having your big I’m Devastatingly, Hopelessly In Love With Him epiphany right now in the middle of the highway. I love you and I want you to be happy but I, personally, am not ready to _die_ for Kim Mingyu like – ”

“No, it’s not that,” Wonwoo mutters, eyes widening as he shoves his hand into his pocket and fishes his phone out before tossing it quickly to Soojin so he can keep his hands on the steering wheel. Road safety first, last-minute, dawning realisations second. “I forgot to tell him I was picking you up from the airport.”

“… _And_ that I’d be staying at your place for the next couple of weeks until my old roommate has space for me in her apartment...?”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. As he said before, Soojin knows him too damn well.

“Wonwoo… Jeon Wonwoo, you tall, useless linguini noodle. How could you _forget_? You know how this is going to look to him, right?” 

“That’s why I need you to help me and call him right now so I can tell him!” Wonwoo hisses. 

Soojin sighs, but does as he asks, putting the phone on speaker. The phone rings once, twice, and then Mingyu’s picking up.

“ _Hey,_ _hyung_.”

God, it’s game fucking over when just the sound of his voice makes heat bloom in Wonwoo’s chest, right?

“Hey, Mingyu, are you… are you in my apartment right now?” Wonwoo asks, suppressing the urge to wince at his own awkwardness. 

“Yeah, I’m just chilling with Byeol. We’re watching _Up_.” Of course he is. Of course he’s in Wonwoo’s apartment, watching a Pixar movie with Wonwoo’s dog. _Because he loves that little one-headed hellhound from Seoul to the depths of Tartarus_ and would spend every waking moment with him if he could. 

“Right. Well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m driving a friend home from the airport and they’re actually going to be staying over for a couple days.”

“Oh, okay. That’s cool.” Mingyu says. And then the briefest pause. His voice sounds softer, more reserved when he speaks again. “I won’t be in your hair for much longer, the movie’s almost over, I think I’ll –” 

“No, that’s okay,” Wonwoo cuts in to reassure him. “I’m not chasing you out or anything. Just… letting you know.” 

“Alright. Um, see you soon, then? Drive safely, hyung.”

“See you soon, Gyu.”

Mingyu hangs up. Soojin arches a single, silent, _judgemental_ eyebrow at Wonwoo.

“ _I know_ , okay? I know, I’m an idiot, I forgot. He makes me forget things when I’m around him, my brain gets all – _fixated_. Like I forget how to multitask.”

The look Soojin sends him is everything that needs to be said on that.

 

 

\-----

 

 

When Wonwoo knocks at the door, Mingyu opens the door with Byeol cuddled in his arms, and looking for all intents and purposes like he – well, _like he belongs here._

He’s in an old, loose T-shirt and pyjama pants, a hoodie thrown over all of it. He looks very soft and very at home, and _the complete opposite of what he’s been trying to convince Soojin of for the past thiry minutes_. ‘Just friends’ is going to be an impossible defence after Soojin’s seen Mingyu standing on his doorstep like he’s opening the door to his own apartment.

“Hey hyung. We were just gonna — ”

Mingyu’s eyes widen as he spots Soojin behind Wonwoo, and he takes a step back from the door way, stumbling a little.

“H - hi! I’m Mingyu. Sorry, hyung mentioned you were coming, I didn’t have time — ” Mingyu glances down at his pyjamas, grimacing.

“It’s alright,” Soojin says, smiling warmly at him as Wonwoo wheels her suitcases into the living room. “I’m Soojin, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Y - you’re Byeol’s owner,” Mingyu stutters, his jaw dropping open. Byeol barks then, and Mingyu freezes, torn between letting Byeol down or just giving him straight to Soojin. 

Soojin chooses for him, striding over to greet Byeol by cupping his little face in her hands. “My _baby_ , my little star. I missed you so, so much.”

Byeol wriggles, reaching for Soojin and Mingyu hands him over in wordless shock. Byeol nuzzles at Soojin’s cheek, barking his excitement and happiness at seeing her again. Soojin shushes him, stroking her hands over his head, scratching underneath his chin just where he likes it.

“Wonwoo’s told me a lot about you. About what you’ve done for Byeol. And for him.” Soojin says, turning to Mingyu, eyes brimming with sparkling delight. “Thank you for taking such good care of them all these months.” 

There’s a flicker of sharpness that darts across Mingyu’s face, too quick to catch, and then it’s like a curtain falling over his face, masking all his real emotions beneath this superficial screen. Wonwoo didn’t even know he could do that. Mingyu smiles, and it’s suspiciously shiny, too bright, like fool’s gold glittering in distraction.

“It’s – I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Mingyu says lightly, his voice tight and controlled. To anyone else, it sounds like sentimentality caught in his throat, sweet and honeyed thick.

To Wonwoo, it looks like he’s completely shut himself out, the lights turned off. Total blackout.

“Wonwoo’s lucky he had you,” Soojin says. “I know Byeol can be a handful sometimes.” She pauses, smile winding across her lips. “ _Most_ of the time.”

And Mingyu smiles back, the edges of his lips tug upwards in half-hearted resolve – no, not _half-hearted_ because Mingyu doesn’t do anything in halves or with anything less than all of his heart – and it makes Wonwoo ache, physically _ache_ to see him smiling like an open wound, haemorrhaging honesty and surprise and heartbreak right where he’s standing. Mingyu has never been good at hiding things from himself, let alone the rest of the world. Wonwoo can read each tiny shift in his expression – because even if he wasn’t a detective, even if he wasn’t an expert in the study of body language and human behaviour, he _knows_ Kim Mingyu.

“I’m – I’m the lucky one. To have met them.”

Mingyu fiddles with his sleeves, glancing over at Wonwoo just the once before looking away just as swiftly, each emotion that flickers across his face, there and then gone again like quicksilver. Wonwoo catches relief and remorse, shame, _guilt_ , and strangely enough, acceptance. 

“Well, it’s… um, it’s late. I think I’m going to head back to my own apartment. It was really great meeting you, Soojin-ssi. Byeol’s gonna be so happy that you’re finally home.” 

“Night, Mingyu.” Wonwoo manages to say evenly, casually.

“Goodnight, Mingyu. It’s been really, really lovely to meet you. I’ll make sure Wonwoo organises a time for all four of us to hang out.”

Mingyu reaches out to pet Byeol one last time time. And just for a brief few seconds, his fingers lingering in Byeol’s fur, the walls drop and he looks at Byeol with an expression that bleeds sheer fondness and affection.

“Goodnight, Byeol. Sweet dreams.”

Mingyu draws his hand back, slipping it into the pockets of his hoodie, and gives Soojin and Wonwoo a small (heart-rending) smile before leaving.

Soojin waves back, beaming sweetly in his direction, and then Mingyu’s gone and she’s whirling on her heel, a thunderstorm of fury and retribution descending upon her face. 

“ _Jeon Wonwoo_ , I’ve only known Mingyu for a minute and a half but if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room, except Byeol, and that means _you_.”

Soojin points an accusing finger at the door that Mingyu’s just walked out of. 

“Whatever that just was, you need to _fix it_.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Mingyu knows what this look like. He _knows_ it looks bad, and that it’s getting worse, and eventually it’ll be inevitably screwed beyond repair. He knows himself and how this goes.

He’s loud and clumsy and painfully obvious. About everything. His whole entire life he’s been too big for his own body, too wholehearted and eager. There’s nothing he’s ever been able to do or say that could change that about himself.

It’s like this: you know the colouring in books you used to love drawing in as a kid? The thick black lines demarcating the outlines of trees and stars and giraffes and mermaids just waiting for your imagination to come along to fill them with colour?

Mingyu always hated colouring inside the lines. 

He wanted his skies to be purple, his giraffes to be green and spotted blue. His free-drawn stars were bright balls of rainbow chaos and no amount of positive encouragement or insistence on realism would sway him. 

 _It’s like abstract art_ , his favourite teacher in the whole, wide world would say. _There’s an infinite amount of ways to look at it, and everyone has their own version of what it means._

Being Mingyu is a little like that. 

Kandinsky’s improvised chaos. Delaunay’s kaleidoscope of shapes and avante-garde. De Kooning’s blind, visceral emotion. Brilliant, bold ribbons of colour spilling over the lines of a colouring in page, sketched a little too loud, too roughly. Too _everything_.

The thing about abstract art is that not everyone knows how to find beauty in its contradictions.

Mingyu goes through life incapable of being anything other than bold and bright and loud, wearing his feelings on his sleeve, his tenacious heart beating with earnest, wide-open vulnerability. He feels a little too much, and loves too easily, and he never knew how many ways there were to apologise simply for being until he had his heart shipwrecked by his first real encounter with love.

 _You’re so clingy, Mingyu._ _You’re so needy._ And he is; he’s also great at making excuses for other people. _I don’t have time to reply to all your texts. No, I can’t call right now, God, just give me some space._ And that’s okay, it’s okay because Mingyu talks too much anyway. He’s always talking, forever loud and annoying and distracting. _No, I’m busy this weekend, we see each other all the time, can’t you live for one day without seeing me?_ He just needs to give them space. And he needs to be less _him_.

 _God, Mingyu can’t you just do this_ one thing _right?_

So Mingyu made himself _useful_ rather than needy. He made himself valuable. _Wanted_. Because who doesn’t need a man who can cook and clean and charm with no complaint? In the eyes of the world the social capital of a handsome, likeable young man who can do everything he does is near priceless.

And being necessary is the closest thing to being loved. Sometimes he can close his eyes and pretend it’s just as good as.

Mingyu knows it the first, second, third time he meets Jeon Wonwoo: it’s been a long time since he last fell this hard. Each time he meets him it’s a disaster, and maybe that’s the universe’s way of grounding him with realistic expectations. But what is he supposed to do when the man lives in the same building as him and has a dog that Mingyu would willingly give the moon and stars and entire solar system to see happy?

At first, being just friends is enough. Mingyu is a great friend to have. He’s useful. Selfless. Generous. Available at all times of the day when catastrophe strikes, or when you just need someone to hold your hand. Jeon Wonwoo needs more taking care of than most people, but he doesn’t seem to mind the way Mingyu makes himself at home in his life and swiftly becomes his dog’s best friend. 

It’s nice, doing things for other people. For Wonwoo. For the little smile that lifts at the corners of his mouth and the soft gratitude that gleams in his eyes. The _thank you_ , _you didn’t have to_ , that Mingyu can always tell he genuinely means. It’s the little things too, like making Wonwoo laugh. The way his nose scrunches in the moment, shoulders shaking and his whole face lit up with easy delight. 

But somewhere along the way, Mingyu screwed up.

Somehow, Mingyu started realising how much he wanted this, always. How he wanted to hold Wonwoo’s hand, not just in the secret moments in between the heartbeats of real life, but simply because he could. How much he wanted to make Wonwoo laugh, low and pleased and nose scrunched, so he could kiss the smile from his lips and taste it lingering on his tongue. How much Wonwoo’s happiness means to him that there’s a whole section of his mind dedicated to a comprehensive archive of Wonwoo’s favourite things, his habits, routines, miscellaneous Wonwoo Facts™. 

It aches in him like a shadow of his pulse, how much he wants to hold Wonwoo. To touch him. To be laid bare by him.

He didn’t know how badly he wanted all of these things until the possibility of having them had slammed shut in his face before he ever had the chance to try.

After he leaves Wonwoo’s apartment that night, the early hours of the morning slip by in a state of tortured sleeplessness. It’s almost like he dreamed the entire incident; he _wishes_ he did. If he had, maybe he could wake up and the bad dream of meeting Kang Soojin, Wonwoo’s ex-girlfriend, Byeol’s mom, beautiful, elegant, perfect Kang Soojin with the long, dark hair and moonlight smile, would fade the way dreams, good or bad, tend to do.

But Wonwoo hadn’t _said_ anything about getting back together with her. And surely, _surely_ with something this momentous and life-changing and important to him, he would have. He and Mingyu aren’t just neighbours anymore they’re… they’re _friends_ , if nothing else. If there was something more going on between them Wonwoo would have mentioned it. 

Mingyu bites back the urge to leap and tumble and fall to wild conclusions, his chest tightening and constricting with undercurrents of doubt humming around the lightning rod of heartbreak and misery. _Guilt_.

Wonwoo will have an explanation for all of this. He will. If Wonwoo was getting back together with his ex, he would’ve said something.

It’s nine when Mingyu scrapes himself out of bed after hours of sleeplessly scrolling through his Instagram feed and feeling small and pathetic lying here marinating in his worst fears and trying not to drown amidst the crushing awareness that he has no right to be feeling like this.

Wonwoo is his friend. Someday they could’ve even been on their way to being best friends.

It’s Mingyu’s fault for falling in love with him.

It’s Mingyu’s fault for daring to want more than Wonwoo was willing to sign up for. All this time, he’s been terrified that Wonwoo would find out, that Wonwoo already  _knows_ and is trying to act like he doesn’t so  that things won’t be awkward between them. Maybe it’s finally time to face the reality that they can’t go on the way they were regardless because Mingyu can’t keep this up. 

He can’t keep imagining himself as Wonwoo’s _person_ when Wonwoo doesn’t see him as anything more than just a friend. He’s in so deep that it feels like each step closer to Wonwoo that he takes is another inch farther from dry land, from the shore where safety has long abandoned hope for him. From the chance of letting Wonwoo go without tearing out a part of himself in the process.

Mingyu makes the trip to Wonwoo’s apartment in a daze, his brain slow and fuzzy from the lack of sleep but his senses hyper-aware and on a razor trip-wire threatening to blow everything apart at the slightest hint of danger.  

He comes to a stop in front of Wonwoo’s door wanting nothing more than to turn around and go back home and forget this ever happened.

He could pretend, for another day, another week, that this is all going to be fine.

Mingyu’s very good at making excuses for other people without them asking him to. He could come up with half a dozen reasons that Wonwoo hasn’t told him about her.

In the end, it’s the thought of not seeing Byeol’s little face for a whole week that drives him to do it. He knocks, sharp and fast, like ripping off a bandaid. 

There’s no answer. 

Mingyu knocks again, panic sinking harder in his stomach, a burning sensation in his throat rising like embers.

The door opens a few minutes later, and it hits him so swiftly he forgets to brace for impact and _breathe_. The swooping, dizzying, lightheaded feeling sends him reeling, pitching into the vertigo of standing at the edge of somewhere too high up and only just now realising he’s about to fall. It’s an ache that has him questioning everything his mind his chest his hands are trying to tell him. And all of it swallowed up in this terrible weightlessness. Like motion sickness on dry land. 

Kang Soojin is wearing Wonwoo’s shirt.

He can tell because it fits her in the loose, effortless way of someone who’s been stealing his shirts for a lifetime because they’re big and comfortable on her, and because she knows they smell faintly of Wonwoo’s cologne and more importantly his vanilla-scented shampoo, and _she must know_ exactly how the sleeves drape charmingly low over her wrists and how they skim the middle of her thighs. 

Byeol scampers up behind her, barking happily as she turns to sweep him up into her arms, kissing his ears with the all the open, shameless adoration of a weeklong homecoming.

And then Wonwoo saunters out of the bedroom, rubbing sleepily at his eyes behind his glasses, his black hair a dishevelled mess, sticking up in odd places where it’d been pressed haphazardly into his pillow. He’s unguarded and vulnerable, soft in a way that Mingyu’s never seen him before around anyone. 

Byeol whines softly as he nuzzles into Soojin’s chest and her throat, scattering puppy kisses all over her cheeks and neck and anywhere that he can reach and Wonwoo’s smile breaks across his face like dawn as Soojin tips her head back laughing and — 

 _Oh_. Oh.

 _This is the way it was always meant to be_ , Mingyu thinks.

The vertigo feeling falling to a whisper in his ear, an echo of trembling heartbeat, tells him there’s no place for him here.

What he thought he’d built in this house, as a guest, as a friend, as a sometimes dogsitter, was just a placeholder. Something to keep the empty space in Wonwoo’s life warm and sunlit, just for a moment ( _a while, an eternity_ ) until everything was not so cold again.

It makes Mingyu ache, makes his entire body ache, weightless and hollow and unbearably bittersweet, with the realisation that this is what Wonwoo looks like when he’s happy. 

“Sorry, I — this was a mistake.”

Because the little place for himself he’s carved out here in Wonwoo’s life can be just as easily turned to kindling and he can feel his heart in his chest in his throat moving faster than his brain and his mouth and he’s so _stupid_. Playing house with Wonwoo as if it was ever going to lead anywhere, coming and going at his beck and call, dropping everything in his life at the first hint of being needed, insinuating himself into Wonwoo’s life trying to make himself indispensable so maybe, _maybe maybe just maybe_ , Wonwoo would want him.

 _Stupid._ Stupid Mingyu. _So damn_ stupid _._

He feels clumsy all of a sudden — big and clumsy and graceless, embarrassment burning on the surface of his cheeks, messy and sweat-stained with a battered, rumpled uniform still sticking to his skin as he stands here clutching his heart in his fist and his stupid, desperate hope in another. 

“I — I have to go.”

Wonwoo’s happy. He’s — soft, smiling, disarmed by the careless warmth glimpsing through the curve of his lips.

He’s _happy_. Isn’t that enough? ( _why can’t that be fucking enough?_ )

“Wait, what? Who is it? _Wait_ , Mingyu —”

Mingyu doesn’t look back. He turns the corner and races up the staircase, pulse pounding in his ears the entire way home, deafening but not loud enough to drown out his heart plummeting, hurtling to the ground in free fall. 

( _how, how could he ever let himself think wanting to be needed was the same as being loved)_

 

 

\-----

 

 

After that morning, Mingyu stops coming by.

His absence in Wonwoo’s life leaves an inexplicable hollowness behind that can’t be defined. It’s like a missing step in a staircase; his foot keeps wanting to sink right through into empty space.

Byeol is in full-blown mourning. He nudges miserably at his food in the mornings and stares accusingly at Wonwoo when there’s no sign of Mingyu at the door in the evenings.

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say. As much as she tries, even Soojin can’t seem to brighten his mood. In fact, _Soojin’s_ pissed him at, too. Seeing as this is the current mood of his apartment building, it’s a valid feeling.

Wonwoo kind of hates himself, too.

He catches Mingyu at the wall of post boxes one day, a serendipitous meeting if not for the terrible look that crosses Mingyu’s face when he turns and sees Wonwoo standing there. 

“H-Hey, hyung!” He stutters, recovering smoothly, or as best he can when they both know Wonwoo’s seen his expression before he can plaster a transparent smile on top of it. 

“Hi, Mingyu.”

“How’ve… how’ve you been? How’s Byeol?” Mingyu asks, forging on with the conversation nevertheless. 

“He’s good. I’m good. We’ve both been, uh, doing really well.” 

God. _Wonwoo hates this._ He hates it. They sound like strangers. Like acquaintances that barely know each other trying to catch up on a week’s worth of missed smalltalk.

_This isn’t who they fucking are._

“That’s good! I’m glad.” The smile on his face flickers, just for a beat, slipping and turning brittle. “I miss him,” Mingyu says softly.

“He misses you, too. He’s been in a shitty mood because you haven’t been coming around as much.”

“Sorry.” Mingyu glances quickly at Wonwoo and then away again. His gaze has been straying to a distant point beside Wonwoo’s face this entire time. “I’m, uh. I’ve been busy. I’ve been really busy.” 

He doesn’t offer up a better excuse. Partially, Wonwoo thinks, because they both know he’s an awful liar.

“Understandable,” Wonwoo says. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says, wanting to die on the spot, hating himself for saying it. But he doesn’t know any other way to fix this. He isn’t _like_ Mingyu, who always knows how to salvage a dead conversation. Always knows how to comfort someone and how to care for them when they need it most. 

He doesn’t know what to say because the reason why Mingyu’s hurting is him. It’s him. 

“I’ll see you around, hyung.”

Mingyu gives him one last, fleeting smile and its so fragile, so breakable, it hurts to see it. He turns, mail tucked under his elbow and leaves before Wonwoo can say anything else.

 

 

\----- 

 

 

In the absolute dead of night, a loud, crashing noise erupts down the hallway of Wonwoo’s living room. Wonwoo sleeps lightly to begin with but his first instinct is to assume it’s Byeol, up to his usual mischief, oblivious to insignificantly human constructs like _time_ and waking Wonwoo up at three o’clock in the morning. 

And then the crashing intensifies, and he recognises the sound of footsteps echoing clumsily across his floorboards. Wonwoo surges up from his bed, shoves his glasses on and grabs the closest thing that qualifies as a weapon — a thick, non-fiction hardcover book about the history of the _Romance of the Three Kingdoms_  — and stalks soundlessly out of his room. 

He’s about to strategise a plan of attack when he sees Mingyu, who’s apparently given up on his war against gravity, sprawled on the ground. Byeol is nosing at his fingers and making small, sad whimpering noises.

 _At least he’s fully clothed this time_ , Wonwoo thinks to himself in a moment of half-asleep deliriousness. 

He straightens his shoulders, the wave of déjà vu hitting him as he breathes in the smell of soju, sickly sweet and cloying. The single source of light in the room is Mingyu’s phone, the LED screen garishly bright in the darkness, and it’s unclear whether Mingyu actually turned it on or dropped it. He’s about to walk over there and help Mingyu up when Mingyu hiccups and peels himself off the ground into a sitting position.

“ _Byeol_ ,” he wails, high and loud in a voice that would certainly have woken Wonwoo up if the banging and crashing noises hadn’t. “Byeol, _I missed you so much._ ”

Mingyu opens his arms and Byeol goes willingly, nuzzling at Mingyu’s neck as Mingyu buries his face in Byeol’s fur. 

“I know I promis’d hyung I wouldn’t break into his apartment any… any _more_ but technically it’s not...” Mingyu trails off, voice muffled by Byeol, and then he jolts abruptly, cut off mid-sentence by another hiccup. “Not if I h’ve the key, right?”

He deflates a little, pulling back so he can hang his head with a sniffle. 

“Guess I gotta give that back, too.”

Mingyu starts to pet Byeol, and despite being so drunk he’s resorted to breaking-and-entering into Wonwoo’s apartment again (just like the beginning of how they met all those months ago), he’s achingly gentle with Byeol. 

Byeol whines, pushing into Mingyu’s hand, as if he can sense the sadness clinging to his skin and his clothes like the liquor.  

“Soojin-noona’s so pretty.” Mingyu mumbles, syllables slurring together, his little lisp even stronger in his drunken state. “Why didn’ you tell me how pretty she was, huh? Maybe I woulda’… been less _stupid_ if I knew what I was up against.”

This is where Wonwoo’s heart starts to clench.

He exhales and it’s like accidentally straining a pulled muscle. One wrong move and it could set off a ripple effect of pain echoing through him.

“Probably wouldn’t have stopped me from liking hyung anyway.” Mingyu sniffles, and from where Wonwoo’s standing, he can see how suspiciously shiny his eyes are.

This feels wrong. Invasive. Wonwoo shouldn’t be listening to this.

“He’s so. _So cute_. So handsome. ‘N smart. The smartest person in the world, probably. An’ I don’t care what anyone says, his tiny ass is really – _cute_.” 

He shouldn’t be listening to this when Mingyu isn’t aware he’s standing right here. He knows this, _he knows_ , and yet he can’t seem to bring himself to move, the pull in his chest keeping him from moving even an inch. 

“Kaeun-noona says I need to — to stop being so pathetic. And that there’re plenty a’ fish in the sea. But I don’t want any other fish and Wonwoo-hyung doesn’t even like fish, so.”

Mingyu sounds so small. _So small_. It’s a little childish with his lips pushed out in a pout, but the sincerity bleeding through his words is so painfully honest. So bluntly earnest.

He cups Byeol’s face in his hands, lowering his own towards Byeol so they’re eye-to-eye. He takes one long, deep breath, like he’s steeling himself.

“I wanted to say… t’ tell you I’m not gonna come by as much anymore.”

Byeol squirms in his hands, but Wonwoo can’t see his face, can’t see what there is in his eyes that makes Mingyu make a soft, wounded noise. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m — ’s not like I _want_ to ‘cause I _don’t_.”

 _Oh_ , Wonwoo realises. Oh. He’s saying goodbye. To Byeol. 

Wonwoo’s chest tightens, an unbearable weight anchoring itself around his ribs, crushingly heavy. Mingyu came by, drunk out of his mind just like the first time they almost met, to say goodbye.

“Now that Soojin-noona’s home you don’t really need me anymore. Both of you. And Wonwoo-hyung _doesn’t_ — ” Mingyu’s voice wavers and breaks, the crack in his voice echoing in Wonwoo’s ribcage.

“I’m — I’m _so happy_ for hyung I just —”

And then Mingyu begins to cry.

“I’m tired, Byeol. And sad. ‘M tired and sad and I—” Mingyu chokes, and his face disappears into his hands and it hurts. _It hurts_ to watch him make himself so small, as if it’ll somehow lessen the pain of making himself — _his heart_ — so open and vulnerable and big the rest of the time. He’s so big-hearted, and brave, and bright, it feels wrong, _unforgivably_ wrong to see him like this, to see him collapse in on himself the way stars do in the black of space.

“Being with you ‘nd Wonwoo-hyung makes me really...”

Tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, face flushed red from crying and drinking and pouring his heart out into his hands, Mingyu lets a smile rend across his lips. 

“ _It made me really happy._ ”

Mingyu wipes at his face, dragging his sleeves across his eyes and cheeks. Wonwoo should be the one doing that for him. Wonwoo should be the one drying his tears, picking him up off the floor, brushing a kiss against his forehead, holding him telling him _you’re wrong, you’re wrong, I do need you you make me happy, too_ – 

Mingyu picks himself back up, puts himself together, the shaky smile on his lips heartbreakingly tender. He strokes Byeol’s head, fingers lingering in his fur, soft, _gentle_.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay? Take care of hyung. Don’t fight with him so much. You know, he loves you more th’n anything even ‘f you don’t — even if you can’t tell.”

Mingyu’s face twists and it looks like heartbreak — his, or Wonwoo’s, it’s impossible to distinguish between them anymore.

Wonwoo does need him, _he does need him_. He needs Kim Mingyu. His big, open heart and endless capacity for kindess, his way of making everything seem brighter, better, _warmer_ just by existing here, at Wonwoo’s side. 

 _You make me happy, too._  

“I’ll miss you,” Mingyu breathes into the darkness, his forehead tipped against Byeol’s. He’s stroking softly at Byeol’s fur, brushing his hands over his forehead and ears like he isn’t going to be able to for a very, very long time.

Byeol whines, distressed without knowing how or why, reacting instinctively to the aching sadness seeping from Mingyu like a shadow.

“ _Love you._ ” Mingyu whispers, and then he brushes a kiss on Byeol’s head. He gives him one last, lingering pet and then turns, hand rising to press against his mouth, chest rising and heaving with an urgency that sounds like he’s choking back tears, as he stumbles out of Wonwoo’s apartment. 

Wonwoo stares at the place on the ground where he’d been curled up on moments earlier.

It’s like he’s looking at negative film, the before and the after of it all with Mingyu carved right out of it. His living room is still lit by the screen of Mingyu’s phone, abandoned in his hurry to leave, but everything is quieter, and hollow. 

Byeol pads over to him and makes a small, miserable noise in the back of his throat.

 _I know_ , Wonwoo thinks. _I know._

 

 

\-----

 

 

According to official city of Seoul government evidence, the fatality rate of police officers dying in the line of duty has 0.01% every year in the past decade.

Out of approximately 100,000 officers working for the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, just 10 died from job-related injuries. Their names are honoured on a plaque in the central headquarters in Migeun-dong, and every year they pay tribute to fallen officers with a memorial service.

In Wonwoo’s six years of working for the SMPA, he’s never been caught in a situation that might warrant worrying about becoming one of those ten dead officers a year until today. 

The case he’d been assigned was for a series of recent disappearances. College students, young women whose parents hadn’t heard back from them for a week or so now. There was no geographical connection and no visible commonality between the cases until Wonwoo identified an unknown number that had been texting back and forth with all of them about a study group. 

A week and a half later he’d found himself tracking a local branch of a human trafficking ring with possible ties to organised transnational crime syndicates.

He’d traced the owner of the unknown number to the warehouse district of Incheon. Records for a packaging facility in Incheon revealed that there had been a recent spike of activity coming and going from Unit 451. 

It should’ve been the perfect operation: him and two other officers with armed back-up following up in the rear staging an ambush.

Except he hadn’t accounted for the chaos and the magnitude of the trafficking ring’s activities and by the time there was time to regret not planning for the unpredictability of criminals with nothing to lose, he was ducking to dodge bullets flying past his head and sinking sharp into steel walls. 

Gunfire always occurs in its own vacuum of time and space. You act and move on pure instinct, adrenaline surging from one moment to the next carrying you through the eye of the maelstrom and out the other side. He takes out one of the traffickers with a bullet in the gut and knicks another in the lower part of his knee before he disappears out of sight. There’s an officer beside him, hiding behind the wall of a container taking aim at the man on the far side of this corridor. He’s about to pull the trigger when Wonwoo yells, the sound catching his attention and sending him to his feet as a bullet slams into the metal where his head had been moments earlier. 

Wonwoo lurches, his hand coiling tight around his revolver and fires back, bullets ricocheting.

It happens too fast for him to react. One second he’s standing, shooting, and the next there’s an explosion of pain in his right shoulder, a numbing fire blooming out from his chest and into the rest of his body. 

He hits the ground hard. There’s no strength or conscious self-presevation instinct alive in his body to steady his fall because all he can think about is how if he dies here, he’s never going to go home again. 

He’s thinking about how if _this is it_ , if this his last moment alive on earth, he’s never going to open his door to see Mingyu running to twirl Byeol in his arms. 

There’s shouting and yelling and more gunfire and then someone is touching his other, unwounded shoulder and screaming words like ‘ambulance’ and ‘shots fired’ that he can’t seem to string together in coherent sentences in his head. 

He thinks he can hear sirens, maybe.

He thinks there’s someone tugging at him, moving him somewhere because there’s air beneath him now amidst all the gaping numbness swallowing him whole.

There’s someone pressing their fingers to his wrist, and they seem to be shaking – or maybe Wonwoo’s shaking? He doesn’t know which way is up or down anymore – trembling against where they’re touching him.

He thinks about how he never got to tell Mingyu that he has cute teeth.

 

 

\-----

 

 

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is the smell of hospital grade disinfectant. His head feels like its full of cotton wool. Every thought takes a minute to think through and connect to the next, like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube with one hand. 

Also, he can’t move his arm.

He blinks, staring hard at his arm as if he can somehow will it to respond. Nothing happens. There’s an itchy sensation in the back of his other hand, he tries to slowly clench it into a fist so he can make the itch go away with sheer force of will. When that doesn’t work, he starts to turn his hand over so he can itch it against the bed.

“Hey.” Says a voice from somewhere near him. Beside him. “Don’t do that. That’s your IV.” 

It’s Mingyu.

A light goes on in his head, and it’s bright and warm and makes him feel like he’s wrapped in fresh blankets still warm from the dryer.

“ _Mingyu_.” The syllables stick together on his tongue, glazed with burned sugar. 

Mingyu looks… different. _Tired._ Dimmer. He has these indigo smudges beneath his eyes; his hair a ruffled mess and not the deliberate kind; he’s still in his paramedic uniform, the crisp navy fabric creased and rumpled like he’s been sitting in it for a while now. 

“Wonwoo.”

Mingyu’s expression is a watercolour painting, swirls of emotion bleeding into each other, all flowing into the one beautiful, impressionist blur of colour and shape and _feeling_. There’s an endless ocean of exhaustion, blue-black with midnight, fear hazy with tinges of violet and streaks of a sad, deep blue clinging to the horizon, worry in the orange and gold of dusk, relief in the wash of rose that spills across his face like the light of dawn greeting day.

He’s so beautiful, Wonwoo can’t help himself from fixating on it. He’s always so beautiful. His face is Wonwoo’s favourite face. 

“You’re pretty.” Wonwoo says with the heart-rending awe of a middle schooler trying to talk to his crush in between stuttered heartbeats, the confession at the back of his mind forever tied to his tongue, clumsy and thick with boyish awkwardness. 

Mingyu, very unexpectedly, blushes. His cheeks heat with a soft, sweet shade of caramelised pink, pretty with muffled surprise.

“Thanks.” 

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Did the doctor send you?” 

Mingyu opens and then closes his mouth like he’s searching Wonwoo’s face for the words he’s meant to say here. He settles on something hesitant and unsure and it seems wrong, his whole _expression_ seems wrong when it’s accompanied by the distinct unease tainting his quiet demeanour.

“I came here with you in the ambulance.” 

“Ambulance?” Wonwoo parrots, mildly perplexed.

“Yeah, hyung. _Ambulance._ ” Mingyu’s mouth twists, a grief wrenching through him, tearing across his expression, swift and brutal in its totality. Wonwoo hates it, hates the way it’s keeping the smile that should always be there from its skyline. “You were shot.”

“Bullets?” 

“One. It managed to miss any bones or major arteries but you – ” He cuts himself off, pressing his hand over his mouth as he blinks rapidly, every muscle in him tensing like he’s trying to stop himself, like he’s trying to hold himself together even though he’s teetering at the brink of falling apart.

“Th — there was so much blood. And I know what blood looks like when it’s a fatal wound, if it had — … if it had severed your artery— ”

His voice has been shaking, creaking on rusted, unsteady foundations. And then, at last, it breaks. 

“It looked like you were _dead_.” 

Mingyu lets out a shuddering gasp, and he’s crying, trembling as he curls his hands to try to keep himself from crumbling. Somewhere in the back of his head, amidst the morphine and anaesthesia seeping into his subconscious, Wonwoo becomes distantly aware that this is the third time he’s made Mingyu cry.

 _Why does he always seem to do that?_  

Mingyu lifts a hand to wipe at his eyes, dragging the back of his hand wretchedly across his face, the gesture so small and childlike it makes Wonwoo want to kick himself for making him look like that. 

Mingyu tilts his face up to look at the ceiling, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes wet with fresh tears, and seems to force himself to take one, then two deep breaths.

When he looks at Wonwoo again, it’s with so much sadness and loss that Wonwoo almost has to break his gaze.  

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know how, exactly, he knows this, but he knows Mingyu isn’t just talking about him being shot.

 _But I’m here_ , he’d say, if he could, if he knew how to. _I’m right here. You have me. You’ve always had me._

With great effort and concentration on the part of his brain that’s still capable of handling active consciousness, Wonwoo stretches out his unbandaged hand, the one with the IV passing through the center of it.

Mingyu looks at his hand like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, like he’s afraid if he moves Wonwoo will disappear like time in a sandglass, like a mirage. Like something too good to be true.

“Mingyu.”

Mingyu stares, and stares, too scared to move. Wonwoo begins to open his mouth to say something, to tell him, _to tell him he can’t lose something that he’s always had will always have as long as Mingyu wants him_ when Mingyu’s pager goes off.

The sharp, shrill sound cuts through the room, severing the moment in half between a _before shooting_ and _after missed opportunity_ and Wonwoo doesn’t get to say anything at all. 

Mingyu stumbles back, clutching at his pager like it’s a lifeline. 

He starts for the door, strides quick and panicked like he wants to get out of this room before he says or does something he can’t take back. At the threshold of the door, he pauses, mid-step, and goes motionless. In Wonwoo’s mind, it looks like he’s fighting every instinct in him not to turn around but maybe that’s just the drugs and the dreaming and the _wanting Mingyu_ _to_ _stay_ that conjures the image so clearly and so sharply before him. 

Mingyu tenses, very briefly, and then he straightens, and walks out the door.

 

 

\-----

 

 

The aftermath of Wonwoo’s shooting turns out to be very dull and anticlimactic, and involves an excessive amount of paperwork.

Apparently, being injured in the line of duty is something of a bureaucratic nightmare. Wonwoo spends a lot of time practicing to sign his name with his left hand, and delights in watching Seungcheol squint at him skeptically when he draws it free-handed in a single unending line of scribble beneath every ‘sign on the dotted line’.

Soojin shows up teary-eyed having rushed to the hospital due to the emergency contact he’d never bothered to change. She spends the first four days sleeping by his side and keeping him company despite Wonwoo’s objections.

Soonyoung, Jihoon and Jun visit him the morning after, bringing with them an absurd amount of flowers and stuffed bears and cards and get well gifts.

Jeonghan checks in on him at least three times a day despite Wonwoo being moved out of the ICU after his second day. He and Joshua conspire together to smuggle him edible non-hospital approved snacks, including Love & Letter’s glorious baked goods. Vernon shows up with a whole cake one day, decorated in psychedelic vaporwave-inspired icing.

The one person he wants to see, the one person whose voice he wants to hear when the pain and boredom and inertia of being stuck in a hospital bed for two weeks straight doesn’t call or text or show up again. Wonwoo’s starting to become convinced that seeing him when he first woke up from his surgery was a hallucination. 

Wonwoo signs himself out of the hospital on his sixteenth day of being stuck in his hospital room with nothing to do but read and game on his Nintendo Switch and catch up on a month’s worth of updates from his favourite gaming channels, and think about Kim Mingyu. Soonyoung and Jihoon end up driving him from the hospital because Soojin is in Ilsan for the weekend for some family thing she couldn’t get out of.

(“I swear to god, Wonwoo, I told them you were in hospital after being shot and they _still_ wouldn’t take no for an answer. What kind of monsters _are_ they?”

“Monsters that love you and miss you and haven’t seen you for nearly a year because you were off pursuing your dreams and far-flung ambitions on the other side of the world. They just want you home, Soo. Before you have to leave again.” 

“Have I ever told you that I _hate it_ when you’re right?” 

“All the time. It’s why you loved me.”

“Ugh, that’s insufferable. I really did.”)

Even though neither Soonyoung nor Jihoon seems to want to admit it when everyone’s collective focus is still on _Wonwoo_ and his recovery process, there’s an easiness to the way they talk, the way they touch, the way they keep sneaking glances at each other when they think Wonwoo isn’t looking, that speaks an untold story.

They’d brought Byeol to visit him in Severance’s garden in his second week of hospitalisation once he’d been deemed stable enough to get up and walk around. He’s not ashamed to admit that he’d teared up when he saw Byeol bouncing up and down, struggling to tear himself from his leash in his eagerness to run to Wonwoo.

It’s good to have Byeol by his side again. It’s good to be home again.

Wonwoo’s getting ready for bed in his own pyjamas after taking a shower in his own bathroom and wearing his own favourite socks when a Kakao message sounds from his kitchen table. His own phone is in his pocket. He furrows his brow, bewildered and curious, as he pads over to the kitchen.

Mingyu’s phone is still sitting there where he’d left it, forgotten in the passing of days and weeks after Mingyu’s drunken farewell to Byeol in his apartment.

Wonwoo swallows, his throat suddenly gone parchment dry as he picks it up. 

The screen illuminates with notifications dating back to a week ago.

 

**minghao**  
what the FUCK kim mingyu stop being a coward and answer me god fucking dammit  
ok im sorry i called you a coward  
you're not a coward you're the farthest thing possible from it. you’re a brave, wonderful, kind, compassionate man and i’m fucking worried about you  
are you really planning on drinking yourself to death just because he doesn’t love you back  
look i know it hurts. i know you love him but just  
mingyu please  
text me back

fuck

 

 

 **seungkwan**  
hyung where are you rn???  
CALL ME  
KIM MINGYU WHERE ARE YOU IM COMING TO PICK YOU UP

 

 

 **Unknown Number  
**Hi, Mingyu. I’m sorry to message you like this out of nowhere but it’s Kang Soojin.

 

 

Wonwoo drops the phone. It shatters on the floor, the screen splintering on impact. 

His first three thoughts, not necessarily in chronological order, vying for the attention he’d torn away from his fine motor control and leading to him dropping the phone were these: 

  1. Mingyu hasn’t gotten a new phone since he left his old one here. It’s possible he doesn’t even remember how he lost it, _if_ he remembers that night at all.


  1. Mingyu has been drinking. He’s been drinking a _lot_ if the messages from Minghao and Seungkwan, two of his closest friends, are any indication.


  1. _Mingyu is_ _in love with him_.



“ _Fuck_.” He hisses, bending to pick it up to examine the damage. The screen’s gone black, and no amount of jabbing at the buttons makes the phone want to cooperate. 

None of three thoughts that seared through Wonwoo’s brain the moment he dropped Mingyu’s phone are new revelations to him.

He doesn’t know why it’s taken seeing it written on a screen that’s now cracked and shattered beyond repair in his hand to be able to face it. 

_Mingyu is in love with him._

Mingyu is —

He’s standing in his doorway, key still in his hand, the other holding a plate of what smells like freshly cooked steak.

“I — ”

“ _Mingyu_  — ”

Mingyu’s frozen to the spot, frozen between fight or flight, his eyes round and panicked and Wonwoo’s immediate concern isn’t that he’s going to drop the plate but that he’s going to turn and run and Wonwoo might never have the chance to speak to him like this again.

“Sorry — ” Mingyu fumbles, nearly faltering over his own feet before he catches himself and tightens his grip on the plate, his fingers gone bone-knuckled white. “I — I didn’t know you’d be home.”

On closer inspection, he looks like an absolute mess.

He has soot smudged on the bridge of his nose and the smoke-singed look of someone who’s stepped out of a recent fire. He smells like wildfire. 

And he still had time to cook a meal of premium cut steak for Wonwoo’s dog and feed him when he thought Wonwoo wasn’t home.

“I didn’t — I thought you were still in the hospital, I’m sorry!” Mingyu blurts out before Wonwoo can say anything, the words slamming into each other in their hurry to leave his mouth. He looks like he’s about to work himself up into a marathon sprint, his breath coming in starts and stops. “I haven’t — I’m sorry, hyung, sorry, I should’ve — ”

“ _Mingyu, it’s alright_.” 

Mingyu lets out a deflated breath. Retreats inside himself. 

He pads over quietly to Byeol’s bowl and sets the plate down before moving soundlessly back to the entrance. Byeol, with his uncanny canine sense of the atmosphere, doesn’t move from where he’s sitting at the entrance, right by Mingyu’s side. 

Mingyu stands in his doorway as if this isn’t a place he’s allowed anymore. As if he’s trespassing by being here, a stranger in Wonwoo’s home.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to visit you.”

He doesn’t offer up any explanations for his absence and Wonwoo’s chest aches. His heart is a Gordian knot in his chest.

Mingyu looks small and sad and unsure of what he’s even doing here.

“I wanted to bring you flowers.”

 _I don’t want flowers._ I don’t _need_ flowers. I needed _you_.

The snarled, tangled knot in his chest feels like a fist tightening, clenching around his heart. This chokehold grip keeping him from speaking. 

“I’m really happy you’re better, hyung.” A wisp of a smile flickers across Mingyu’s face. “Byeol missed you so much.”

“I… it’s good to see you, too, Mingyu.” Wonwoo’s jaw feel likes it going to bend and cave beneath all the pressure he’s putting it under, the weight of everything he’s never said finally coming to bear on his mouth. “There’s actually something I wanted to –”

“ _Hyung_ – ” Mingyu cuts in, and then bites down on his lip, his every movement bleeding agitation and fear. “ _Sorry_. Sorry. I just – I need to say this. I had… I was going to come visit you but I didn’t know you’d be out so early. Please, _please_ let me just. I have to say this before I lose the guts to.”

Wonwoo stills, and then he gives Mingyu a small nod.

He watches as Mingyu steels himself, drawing himself up to his full height and then some, straightening his spine and pulling his shoulders back like he’s about to march into a burning building or the scene of a highway accident.

“Wonwoo-hyung. _Jeon Wonwoo._ ” 

Wonwoo loves him just for the way he says his name.

Mingyu sucks in a deep breath, terror and dread fighting to sink its claws into him, a tremble starting in his hands that Wonwoo doesn’t think he even notices, but he forges on nevertheless. He lifts his chin up, locking his eyes on Wonwoo despite every sign and warning from his body screaming that he wants to run.

_Wonwoo loves him._

“I’m just. I’m gonna say it. I’m — I am in love with you. I have been for a really long time. Since the first moment we met and — and all the times I.. — fucked up after that. But I — when I saw you that day bleeding out on the ground and I thought I’d lost you, all I could think was how I’d never have the chance to tell you that I love you.”

 _How does he do that?_ How does he open himself up like that, bleeding and raw and vulnerable and not be terrified that Wonwoo will hurt him because of it? 

It’s breathtaking, how openly he loves. How much Wonwoo loves him.

If this was rehearsed, if Mingyu has practiced this over and over, and memorised all the important lines and cues by heart before he’d meant to do this right here right now, it’s all coming out in a torrent of words and feelings and bare defencelessness. 

“I know this will probably ruin things between us and that’s why I put off telling you for so long, I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to make things awkward for you. Or weird. But I am—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw things up like this, I really — …I _love_ being your friend. So much. And I love hanging out with Byeol so just. Just give me a while to get over this, ‘cause I can. I promise. We can pretend this never happened.” 

Mingyu’s face visibly cracks, incapable of hiding how the thought of _pretending that_ hurts him.

“I just. I thought I owed it to the both of us to be honest with myself. And with – _with you_.”

Mingyu’s chest is rising and falling like he’s been running, his breath coming in shaky exhales. He glances away from Wonwoo like he can’t bear to keep his eyes on him, afraid of what he’ll see staring back at him, fearful of the repercussions of what he’s said. And the idea that he’s hurting, he’s _already_ hurting and has been hurting for so long because _he loves Wonwoo_ makes Wonwoo want to build a time machine just to take them back so he can tell him he doesn’t have to be this brave.

“Mingyu, look at me.” Wonwoo says, a command cutting through the softness of his voice.

“Look at me.”

“No.” Mingyu’s lip trembles, but there’s no other indication of him giving in. 

“Why not?” 

“Because!” Mingyu gasps, sounding winded. “I know what you’re gonna say and I need. — I need a _moment_.”

God, it sounds like Mingyu’s _begging_ him, his voice broken and pleading, stripped bare to its smallest element.

“ _Please._ ”

Wonwoo breathes in slowly through his mouth, resisting the urge to reach out for Mingyu. To touch him. To quiet the mind that he knows is deafeningly loud right now with worst case scenarios and unfounded miseries. 

“What exactly do you think I’m going to say?”

“That you’re sorry, too, that we can’t be friends anymore because it’s weird and a little fucked-up that I’m in love with you and have been using your dog partly as an excuse to be with you all the time. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry I had to go and ruin a good thing by – by falling in love.” 

“Mingyu..”

“And I still wanna be your dongsaeng, I don’t want things to change, I’m sorry. I can — I can still fix this, I’ll get over it, you don’t have to — ”

Mingyu’s working himself up into an incoherent ramble again, his heart outracing his mouth, his mind. His heart forever ten, twenty steps ahead of him.

“I know.”

“We can pretend this never happened, and I’ll stop, I swear. Just. Please still let me see Byeol — ”

“ _Mingyu._ ” Mingyu stops, looking ashamed of himself and wretched and miserable. Wonwoo should never have made him wait like this.

“I’ve known for a long time that you have feelings for me.”

Mingyu’s face crumbles, the tears beginning to break over the dam.

“I’ve known. I _knew_.” The past tense sounds like a confession of guilt. “And I should’ve… it’s not all your fault, I could’ve said something.” 

Mingyu makes a quiet, choking sound. “To let me down easy? I must’ve looked so—so _stupid_ and needy and — ” 

“Mingyu, please.” Wonwoo says, softly. “You said your part. Now, let me.” 

Mingyu closes his mouth, curling tight on himself, bracing for what Wonwoo’s about to say. The explanation for all this heartbreak and sorrow about to be laid before him, finally. 

Wonwoo owes him that much. He owes him everything. 

“I knew. And that terrified me. Because I know you, but also because it terrified me how much power I had to hurt you without even realising it.”

And all Wonwoo’s done since then is _hurt_ him. Wonwoo was right, and being right has never felt worse. It’s never felt more like a curse, a burden to bear that he never asked for. Because loving someone is like giving them a knife to hold to your heart —  _your throat —_ and having to trust them every day not to do it. 

Mingyu placed his knife in Wonwoo’s hand and Wonwoo’s been making him bleed a little every day ever since. 

“I ignored your feelings for so long because I thought that if I did that, they’d go away. And that wasn’t fair to you. I thought I knew your own heart better than you did. I thought that eventually, you’d find out the truth and you’d see there isn’t really that much about me to love.” 

“ _Wonwoo_.” Mingyu looks stricken.

“I have… I’ve _had_ a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you’re not going anywhere any time soon. You’re my friend, my next door neighbour, Byeol’s favourite person in the world, and I care about you so much. And no matter how hard I try to outrun the truth, I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about what you’re doing or thinking when you’re not around. I think about what makes you laugh. I keep all my funniest stories for you. My house is just… a _place_ that I sleep in sometimes without you in it. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you anymore, that’s how… that’s how important you are to me.”

 _Do you get it?_ He wonders, gazing at Mingyu, peering into the depths of him through those wide, sad eyes. _Do you get it now? How much you mean to me? How much I need you, always, to be in my life?_

_And why I couldn’t risk it?_

“So I convinced myself that ignoring your feelings would keep us both safe, that it would keep me from ever hurting you or ever being hurt. But that was selfish, and cowardly. And the truth is I want you in my life for as long as possible. I want you in every way, in all the ways. Because I love you. _I love you._ ”

This is Wonwoo holding his heart in his hand out to him, asking him to take it. Trusting him to protect it. To keep it safe.

Wonwoo moves, he moves first and they draw towards each other like they’re being eclipsed by the pull of the earth aligning between them.

“And I guess it took me being shot to realise that life is precious, and short, and I don’t want to waste another second being in my head, worrying about _what ifs_ and trying not to hurt you more by hurting you less for now when I could be with you, loving you and making you as happy as you have make me.”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, his cheeks wet and shining with tears.

“ _Wonwoo._ ”

Wonwoo takes Mingyu’s face in his one good hand, gently, like moonlight kissing the surface of the ocean beneath a full moon. He thumbs the tear trickling down Mingyu’s cheek away, there and gone again like the blink of a shooting star.

“You make me _so happy_.” 

Mingyu melts into a smile, and its blinding, _brilliant_.

“I love you,” Wonwoo breathes, the words filling his lungs and the air around them with the dizzying, wondrous freedom of truth.

“ _Wonwoo_ ,” Mingyu says, laughter in his voice glistening amidst the tears, “I love you, too. I love you, now please can I kiss you?”

Wonwoo doesn’t need to answer. He curls his hand around Mingyu’s face and kisses him, slow and warm and like the first dawn of the sun on the entirety of the world. It’s the kiss that’s taken a thousand days, has taken what feels like an eternity, a whole world of impossibilities suddenly made new and wondrous and within their grasp. They kiss like they’ve been practicing for it with every other part of their body until now, with the barest touches of skin, their fingers grazing, their hands locked together.

The kisses melt sweet and achingly soft, their lips brushing like they’ve been slow-dancing all along and this is the only way they know how.

The sweetness lasts, for a while it does, and then Mingyu slides his fingers into Wonwoo’s hair and the graze of his tongue across Wonwoo’s lips sends a spark of hunger through him, a flash of starlight blazing in the night sky. It sets him alight, growing and spreading through him, burning through every repressed thought and dream and stray observation. When Mingyu breaks for air, Wonwoo kisses him again with barely a heartbeat in between. He can’t help himself. He wants to taste the breathlessness on his lips, the _want_ , the longing. He wants every part of Mingyu, wants him like sunflowers need sunlight. 

Mingyu’s entire body radiates heat, his chest warm and broad where it’s pressed against Wonwoo’s. He’s so solid against him, but soft where it matters with his gentleness and the way he kisses Wonwoo like he’s basking in him, drinking him in to savour. To last. There’s a part of Mingyu that touches him so carefully, like he’s afraid to be careless after so long spent going without this. Like he’s trying to convince himself this is real, and if it’s not, he’s treasuring each second as it comes. Wonwoo has to lean in and up to kiss those thoughts quiet because they’re so  _loud,_ and right now, the only thing he wants Mingyu to be thinking about is him and this kiss and how long they’ve waited to be able to do this.

Wonwoo kisses him, open-mouthed, kisses him like he’s trying to put everything he still has yet to find words for into the feeling of how wonderfully they fit together. Mingyu seems to get the idea. He has his huge hands cupping his face like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever held in them, and it’s so, _so_ good. It’s perfect.

Which, of course, is when the universe decides they’ve had enough of that.

Mingyu nips at Wonwoo’s lip and Wonwoo breathes him in, pressing blindly into Mingyu without thinking of his injured arm in its cast. He lets out a low, agonised hiss against Mingyu’s mouth as the pain lances through his shoulder and chest. Mingyu stops immediately, eyes flying wide open in momentary panic before he realises what’s causing Wonwoo to hiss like that.

“Hyung, your _shoulder_.” 

“It’s a flesh wound, just kiss me.” 

“Hyung,” Mingyu gasps, voice airy from lack of steady breathing and the laugh hovering on his lips. “You were _shot_. Let’s just slow down a little.”

“No, let’s not do that. Do you know how long I’ve waited to kiss you?”

Mingyu giggles, eyes crinkling as his face lights up, soft and delighted. “Not as long as I’ve waited to kiss you.”

Wonwoo grunts, waving his other hand in the air. “I’ve still got one good hand.”

“That’s nice, hyung.” Mingyu says, indulgently. 

“No, I’m serious.” Wonwoo furrows his brow, unaccustomed to not getting what he wants from Mingyu, especially when their interests are so perfectly aligned as they are in this moment. “Look, I can wiggle my fingers and everything.”

He wiggles them, just to prove his point.

“Cute.” Mingyu concedes, he brushes his thumbs across Wonwoo’s cheekbones. “But _still_ not happening.”

Wonwoo makes an affronted sound, torn between pulling out of his grip and lingering there for a minute longer to soak in it like the sun on a cloudless day. If he leans in to Mingyu’s touch, just a little. _Well._ Who could blame him?

“I hate this,” Wonwoo mutters. “We finally get our shit together and I have a hole in my shoulder. _What the fuck._ ”

Mingyu leans in, and for a moment Wonwoo thinks he’s going to continue the kissing again, possibly as a way to effectively stall his complaints, but instead he simply kisses the tip of his nose. It’s so soft, and sweet, and disgustingly cute.

“Don’t pout.” Mingyu kisses him on the bridge of his nose. And then his forehead. Wonwoo wants to die, or melt into a puddle on the ground. “As much as I’m enjoying this side of you, it would be irresponsible of me as a professional medical officer.”

“Well, you can _forget_ about ever using handcuffs or sexy cop uniforms in the bedroom, then.”

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow at him. Their faces are still so close together that he can feel Mingyu’s breath brushing his mouth and it’s making him weak. It’s making his mind and _resolve_ weak.

“Was that ever on the table?”

Wonwoo tilts his chin up defiantly. “You’ll never know.”

Byeol barks, choosing to interrupt their moment by snuffling at their heels until Mingyu laughs, bright and joyful. He steps away from Wonwoo to swing Byeol up into his arms and shower him with forehead kisses, too. 

“God, I _missed_ you.” Mingyu coos, hugging Byeol like he’s trying to make up for weeks and weeks of missed head pets and scratches. “Maybe even more than Wonwoo-hyung.” 

“Hey,” Wonwoo says, an indignant look flashing playfully across his face.

“Just kidding.” Mingyu replies, catching Wonwoo’s eye, his expression going warm and googly-eyed in a way that Wonwoo’s always consciously and subconsciously associated with puppies and Byeol. “I always miss you the most.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say to that, so he blushes and has to look away before he does something stupid like ask Mingyu to move in with him and never leave him again. 

Later, when they’re lying in bed, Byeol curled in a ball by their feet on top of the covers, and Wonwoo is gazing at Mingyu, looking at this big, tall, handsome, attractive man he has in his bed and can’t do anything with but kiss, it occurs to him that he’s going to be stuck in this exact position for another two months or so at least.

He doesn’t know if this is hell, or heaven, but _god,_ if it’s either one at least he’s with Kim Mingyu.

“You’re giving me that look again,” Mingyu murmurs.

“Hm?” Wonwoo hums, blinking at Mingyu, doe-eyed, like he hasn’t been plotting wicked and nefarious ways to seduce Mingyu into wilful submission.

“The look where you’re trying to convince me to do…” Mingyu pauses, making this cute, bashful noise. “… _Naked_ _stuff_ with you when you’re still recovering from a bullet wound.”

“Naked stuff?” Wonwoo teases. “If you can’t call it _fucking_ maybe I don’t want to do that with you.”

“Weird flex, but okay. I was going to say _make beautiful, romantic love to you_.”

And what, exactly, is a normal, human reaction when someone as beautiful and big-hearted as Mingyu is says that to you?

Because Wonwoo does the exact opposite of that and promptly chokes on his own breath.

“ _Kim Mingyu_ ,” he wheezes. “Don’t _do_ that.” 

“Do what?” Mingyu peers at him, and it’s his turn now to gaze innocently at Wonwoo. “Tell you things like _I love you_ and I want to make you feel happier than you’ve ever been, and blow your mind with the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, but only once you’re completely healed?”

Wonwoo feels his heart skip, stutter, and then jump about a foot into the air out of his chest. 

He exhales, slowly, counting down from seven in case he really _is_ in danger of spontaneously losing his mind.

“How am I supposed to _not_ want you even more when you say things like that?” 

Mingyu smiles, and holds out his hand, laid palm up between them. He wiggles his fingers. Wonwoo sighs, and laces his fingers through Mingyu’s, warmth igniting where their hands touch like miniature sparks flying and catching light.

“Because.” Mingyu says, thumb stroking the back of Wonwoo’s hand, the gesture sweet and sure and so full of love. 

“We have all the time in the world.”

And that, Wonwoo supposes, he can’t argue with. He doesn’t even try.

They fall asleep as the moon rises high and full over the city, harlequin stars blooming in the dark as the night sky comes to life.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to be dramatic but i feel like i've been working on this fic for about a lifetime. the idea for it first came to me in the middle of 2018 and here we are in 2019 with this monster of a fic concept that was born from the simplest prompt ever "wonwoo has a dog and mingyu falls in love with his dog and then him" finally finished. 
> 
> thank you to the stars and beyond to everyone who's been along for the ride. your comments and cc's and messages mean the whole fucking world to me and more, i'm so honoured to have been able to touch your life or your day in whatever way. i hope this part 2 was everything you hoped it would be. finally, i want to thank ren for the endless support and encouragement they've given me. i wouldn't have been able to finish this fic without her being there to celebrate all the good moments and getting me through the rough patches. thank you for being there with me every step of the way.
> 
> there will be an epilogue to follow ♥
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/MIN9YUA) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/gyuwu)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ♥ and special thank you to everyone who's been supporting my writing and waiting for my updates all this time. i know this isn't an update of my other current works but i hope you enjoyed this. i'll be working on the rest of my fics after this. 
> 
> come say hi on [twitter](http://twitter.com/MIN9YUA) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/gyuwu)!


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